


Glorfindel Unleashed

by eawen_penallion



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Age, Gondolin, Grief, Loss, M/M, References to Child Abuse (not explicit), Rivendell, Romance, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 75,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eawen_penallion/pseuds/eawen_penallion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small child creeps into a corner of Glorfindel's heart. As the child grows into an adult, Glorfindel is alarmed at how the changes affect him. Can love survive enforced celibacy, death and an elf who will not recognise his feelings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written about 10 years ago and reposted now on A03
> 
> The first three chapters deal with the neglect/abuse of a child - not explicit and does get happier!
> 
> AU as in it is my idea, but canon where possible with regard to LOTR history. Please note - I subscribe to a very moral position and Tolkien's ethics regarding underage elves. There will be NO illicit carnal connotations in this story.
> 
> My Beta was the Beloved Nienna, so encouraging!

*****

F.A. 469

The weather was fair and fine in Gondolin on the day when Glorfindel first met Erestor. Too fine to be cooped up within his council chambers, so he deferred one half of the agenda, delegating the rest of the tasks to his able advisors and set off through the halls of House of the Golden Flower to seek the sun. The house was almost deserted as he strode through the halls, for it seemed most of his household had had the same idea. Dust motes danced merrily on the beams of light that shone through the windows and doorways that he passed on his journey to the garden entrance to his house.

Glorfindel was proud of his gardens. Though space was at a premium within the Hidden City, his forebears had designed the little they did have to allow for a large expanse of lawn dotted with trees, whose spreading branches provided for those in need of cool shade. Fountains played their sweet tinkling song and the air was redolent with the sweet perfume of flowers, many of them golden. The golden warrior smiled, taking in the patches of celandine the gardeners had planted over the centuries. The sound of childish laughter drifted to his ears, and Glorfindel grinned. He followed the joyous cries to a hedged area set aside for the elflings.

The children swiftly spotted the brilliant sapphire eyes and braids of gold that peered round the edge of the hedges and with screams of delight fell upon him, tugging at his leggings, climbing his enormous frame and treating him as one of their own. For in as much as Glorfindel was beloved by the adults of the city, he was adored by the children of his House. With them he had no responsibilities, no stature or valiant history to uphold, but could be a fellow to them, a provider of sweetmeats and a teller of stories. There was a lot of the child within Glorfindel and the children recognised this. As he rolled around in the dust, pushed them on the swings strung from the trees or threw them high in catching games with his strong arms, he was watched with love and respect by the ellith of the household who took on the care of the children while their parents fulfilled other duties within the city.

Finally their other games called to them, and the children began to release their hold on their Lord and drift off to other pleasures, leaving the golden lord to talk to their nursemaids and parents. It was while in discussion with Mirieth, the wife of one of his lieutenants and a matron with two children of her own, that Glorfindel spotted what seemed like a bundle of black rags in the shadows near the wall.

"What is that, Mistress Mirieth?"

The elleth turned, her face fell in sadness as she saw what Glorfindel looked at. "Ai, my lord, there lies a sad tale. That little one is Erestor, son of Galwion."

Glorfindel was stunned to realise that the bundle was a child, and grieved when he realised whose child. Galwion was a sergeant of the house who had been killed on patrol in the mountains but a month earlier. Glorfindel had broken the news to the widow himself, and had ordered that all assistance and comfort be given to the stricken family.

"But what does he do? Why is he alone? Is his mother not near?" His tone was almost accusing, for he could not conceive of a grieving child being mistaken for a bundle of rags.

Mirieth shook her head. " Aerwithen is fading, my lord, and the child is in the care of her sister." Glorfindel started at the spitting fury evident in her tone, and gave her a questioning look. Mirieth blushed. "Aerwithen is from the House of the Harp, and her sister - well, I should not be uncharitable, but she is one of the foulest tempered beings I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Aerwithen can be difficult at times but I know that she is shy and covers her shyness with a sharp facade that she constructed to cope with the world. Aerwroth is simply mean! She disapproved of her sister's marriage outside of her House, and has no love for the boy." The nursemaid softened as she tenderly looked at the still form. "Poor little mite, Erestor is afflicted with the same crippling shyness as his mother, and that witch is no help. His mother not yet dead and she swaddles him in mourning clothes and as a result no child will go near him! Not that he would respond even if they did. He is sweet and biddable though, little pet."

"How old is the child?"

"Oh, but a babe, no more than eight summers!" She looked keenly at Glorfindel. "Would you talk to him, my Lord? Your magic might just break through his barrier of solitude..."

Glorfindel needed no further prompting. Crossing swiftly over the grass he penetrated the shadows to seat himself quietly by the boy. Initially he had thought that the clothes shrouding the slight form acted as a hood, but saw instead that the darkness was a long curtain of hair, as black as the velvet of the night. Tiny pointed ears broke through the curtain but no face could be seen.

"Hello, I'm Glorfindel. And you must be Erestor?" The golden lord's voice was as sweet as his countenance, soft in tone and temper and dulcet enough to promote a response from the most reluctant of recipients, but none came. Glorfindel was not disheartened. Instead he started to speak softly on the most innocuous of topics, the weather. He spoke of the warmth of the sun, the pleasures of a warm breeze and the delights of cooling oneself in the spray of the fountains, as his friend the Lord of the Fountain was wont to do. He did not touch upon the subject of the boy's mother, for he judged that the little elfling would be too bewildered at missing the presence of his father to understand what was happening to other parent. He talked now without hope of response, intent only on taking the first step on the road to building a trust with the child. There was still no response when he bid his farewell, but he thought he sensed a tiny motion when he rose from the ground, and hoped that that minute recognition of his presence was a good sign. He returned to Mirieth.

"I will come again tomorrow. Do not despair, Mistress Mirieth, between us he shall learn that he is loved."

Mirieth nodded. "I hope so, my Lord. I hope so."

*****

After that morning, Glorfindel's visits to the children's garden became a daily occurrence. He gave orders that a new suit of clothes be delivered to the child's aunt, with instructions that they must henceforth be seen on the elfling. Aerwroth obviously feared such attention from the Lord of the House, as Erestor quickly appeared in the russet browns and crimson reds that Glorfindel had chosen for him. Aerwroth had also experienced a visit from the Elda, who had paid his quiet respects to the ailing mistress of the house. By the looks the golden-haired lord bestowed upon her Aerwroth swiftly divined that she was not in his favour, and she simpered and fawned in an effort to avert any retribution for her treatment of Erestor.

The pen-neth did not change his behaviour. Though neatly dressed now, his extreme shyness severed him from his contemporaries and his sole companion was Glorfindel. The incongruous pair sat side-by-side in the shade, talking softly and sharing sweet treats that Glorfindel stole from his kitchens. Well, *Glorfindel* talked softly, for Erestor as always hid behind his curtain of hair, and the sweetmeats on the plate only disappeared when Glorfindel's eyes were averted. Many would have given up with such discouragement but at last the day came when his patience was rewarded.

Normally during speech Glorfindel gesticulated to emphasise his points, but some empathy had made him realise that this would frighten the elfling so he had taken to placing his hands down on the ground to either side, unmoving. On this day they were sitting in companionable silence when he felt a soft touch on his fingers and he realised that Erestor had laid a tiny hand upon his own large one. He did not move, did not react in any way to this unforeseen movement, but remained still as the hand stroked the thick fingers, feeling each one in turn before retreating back into the folds of brown tunic.

The visit ended shortly afterwards and Glorfindel spoke his soft farewells, then rose and made his way back across the lawn to where Mirieth stood. The elleth's eyes glittered with tears, and her welcoming smile told him that she had witnessed the exchange with rising hope in her heart. Glorfindel smiled back, and then frowned as he remembered something he had not told the boy.

"I go on patrol tomorrow and will not return for a ten-day. Please, reassure our pen-dhínen that I will return?"

Mirieth nodded. "Aye, my lord, though I wish you had told him yourself, for he might not believe me." Glorfindel realised this was true, and made haste to return to Erestor.

"Pen-neth, I will not be here tomorrow, or for a few days, for I must do my duty and protect our city on patrol I *will* be back and until then," he tugged a ring from his smallest finger, "I want you to hold this for me as a pledge of that promise." He laid the ring on the grass beside the head-bowed form, and saw the tiny hand reach out and take it. His heart swelled and in a moment of impulse he bent down and pressed a chaste kiss upon the raven hair.

"Till then, sweet Erestor."

*****

Patrol passed slowly and Glorfindel could hardly believe how much he longed to see his little Erestor. On his return to the city he did not even delay to change his garb but hurried to the garden, knowing that the hour approached in which the children would return to their homes. He was relieved to see that some still remained, and that one was Erestor. Mirieth was also there and she rose from where she had been playing with another child to turn and greet him.

"Welcome back, my lord!" she called, and from her smile it was obvious that she had great and happy news. Yet she did not divulge it, but aimed Glorfindel to his little friend. "He has waited for you patiently, my lord. I think he has something for you."

Intrigued, Glorfindel sat beside the usual bowed form. "I'm home," he whispered, "just as I promised."

The little hand snaked out and dropped the ring back into his own. He heard a rustle of paper, and a crumpled ball was drawn forth from within the red tunic and placed beside the ring. Curiously Glorfindel opened the ball, smoothing the paper flat. Upon it was a crude child's drawing, stick figures as young children do, of a golden-haired rider on a white horse. Moisture pricked at Glorfindel's eyes.

"Thank you, Erestor. It is beautiful," he whispered.

A sudden movement and Glorfindel was shocked to find that the boy had wrapped his arms as far round his broad waist as possible in a hug that expressed deep affection. The raven head snuggled against his chest, then slowly lifted, deep chocolate-brown eyes finally meeting his own sapphire ones. The soft red lips opened, and for the first time Glorfindel heard his little one's hushed voice.

"My Glo'fin'l."

Throat suddenly clenched with emotion, Glorfindel folded his arms around the sweet boy and the two sat for a long time, the outside world excluded.

"Always, pen vuil. Always."

 

 

Elvish:

ellith – female elves (pl.)  
elleth – female elf (sing.)  
pen-neth – little one  
pen-dhínen - silent one  
pen-vuil – dear one

*****


	2. Chapter 2

F.A. 469

The summer waned and Aerwithen lingered. The children played less in the garden and instead moved to their designated teaching halls, away from any vagaries in the weather. The older children were ensconced with their tutors in the libraries; the younger were in rooms decorated in bright colours, containing toys and books suitable for their ages. It was a change for Erestor, but not an unwelcome one.

Having broken the barrier of speech, Erestor did not automatically become a garrulous child. He would now communicate with Mirieth in simple two or three word sentences, asking when he required something. He also learned to trust a new elleth, a niece of Mirieth called Díwen. Mirieth had discovered that Erestor's previous nursemaid had been dismissed by Aerwroth and had suggested to Glorfindel that her sister's daughter might fill the post.

"It may be of help to have a sympathetic eye within those chambers, for I do not trust that witch to care for our little one as we would like," she advised her lord.

Glorfindel agreed, and to forestall any dissension by the aunt he declared that he would pay all monies pertaining to the appointment. Díwen was a sensible girl and gentle enough to draw out the little boy and introduce him to the fun of play. She also found another shy child who would not be rough or boisterous and often the two played side by side with building bricks, or sharing their colours.

At last, with his growing confidence, Mirieth could see Erestor's face and remarked often on his beauty. Erestor was a slim child with skin the colour of pale cream. His startling hair was like black velvet, falling unrestrained over his shoulders; the heart-shaped face framed the rose-red lips, which curled sweetly but shyly when he was happy which happened more and more now. It was his eyes, though, which drew the attention. Large, exotically almond-shaped, the depth of the chocolate-brown orbs exuded warm and purity of soul. And those eyes searched constantly for Glorfindel.

No one could replace the golden lord in Erestor's affection. He listened for the heavy footsteps along the corridor leading to the teaching room and would wait at the appointed hour near the entrance. Only Glorfindel could cause the blinding smile that lit up the elfling's face as he was swept up into the safe arms of his best friend.

"My Glo'fin'l."

And Glorfindel would laugh, and gently sway him in his arms. Not throw or swing, for somehow he knew that Erestor needed something gentler.

"And what today, pen-neth? More story?" At the enthusiastic nod, Glorfindel settled himself on the floor pillows and smiled his thanks when Díwen handed him the primer they had been using that week. Erestor snuggled further into his lap and the two heads, sable and gold, bent over the book spending the next hour entranced in the joy of words.

Erestor was ravenous when it came learning. Mirieth regularly claimed that his voracious intellectual appetite would exhaust her little library; so avid a reader was he. In the end she had implored Glorfindel to find other pursuits for the elfling. And so it was that one fine day the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower introduced Erestor, son of Galwion to one of Glorfindel's closest friends - Asfaloth.

The huge creature was the finest stallion in Gondolin. A good seventeen hands high, he was strong across the back to take the weight of a fully armoured Glorfindel, who was an elf of no mean stature. Of the purest white, his mane flowed like Glorfindel's, a shade almost like gold. He was truly magnificent, holding his noble head in proud position; highly spirited, he was a formidable challenge to the tiny elf.

"Look, Erestor," said Glorfindel, "He wants to be your friend." It was a hard task to coax the little elfling's head from where it sheltered in the base of his neck, whilst simultaneously trying to loosen the stranglehold the said elfling had placed around the said throat. "He won't hurt you, pen-neth"

"I don't think he believes you, Fin," came a laughing voice from behind the lord. Glorfindel turned with the child in his arms, offering a wry smile to the newcomer. "So," continued the elf, "this is your little protégé?"

"Aye, this is Erestor," The elfling was still silent, hidden beneath his veil of hair. " Pen-neth, this is Ecthelion, my very good friend. Look, sweet one, he has hair like yours. He has black hair too. Won't you give him greetings?" He bent his head, trying to peer through the thick strands, finally spotting those brown eyes. "Saes, Erestor?" he added a twist of pleading.

The child finally raised his head, and a small voice spoke out. "Mae govannen, Ecthelion."

"Mae govannen, Master Erestor," responded the Lord of the Fountain. "Aye, but you are a pretty one. Are you here to see Asfaloth?"

The elfling nodded, deciding once he had seen this new elf that he liked him. There was nothing not to like. Ecthelion was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful of elves, dark of hair and fair of face. He always bore a look of innocence and joy upon his face, though Glorfindel knew that a wicked sense of humour lurked behind that façade. 'Thel's voice was also his fame for as well as being a renowned and fearless warrior, he had the sweetest voice in all Gondolin, and it was often said he could charm the birds from the trees. Glorfindel could see it had already charmed Erestor.

"Shall I tell you a secret, Erestor?" Another shy nod. "Glorfindel calls all his horses Asfaloth - do you know why?" A shake this time. "Because he is too silly and lazy to try and remember any other name! This way he doesn't have to." Ecthelion chuckled, fully  
expecting Erestor to join in but his laughter stopped when he received a stern glare from those dark eyes.

" Glo'fin'l *not* silly. He *my* Glo'fin'l!" The child's voice had deepened in his anger at the slur on his friend, and Glorfindel laughed aloud in pleasure.

"Ai, 'Fin, you truly have a stout defender here! May the Valar help any who cross *this* elf when he is grown! I thought you said he was shy?" Glorfindel nodded, puzzled at his friend's comment. Ecthelion continued. "No truly shy child would challenge a warrior like me," the dark lord smiled. "He's Galwion's boy, you said? Now *there* was a reserved elf, I never got more than ten words out of him on patrol. And if the mother was as shy as you say then I think this little one has simply followed his parents' example. No, young Erestor has plenty of spirit."

Glorfindel pondered on this. Perhaps his friend was right, and the child had no more than mimicked his parents' formidable reserve. Perhaps this would bode well for the little one's future, for Glorfindel had felt that worry press upon him at times.

"Now, how about a ride?" Ecthelion was saying, and Glorfindel gasped to feel the boy lifted from his arms and placed upon Asfaloth's broad back. Erestor squealed and Glorfindel made to protest when he registered that the cry had been one of delight. "Up you go behind him, 'Fin. I'll lead you out."

Glorfindel sprang upon the steed's back, an arm quickly circling Erestor's waist, and Ecthelion began to lead the horse from the stable. 

"That's it, pen-neth. Grip him firmly with your knees, and hold his mane with your hands. Asfaloth won't let you fall, will you boy?" Ecthelion's instructions were swiftly followed though the thin legs were unlikely to make any impression upon the stallion. Erestor leaned into the sway, perfectly happy in his beloved Glorfindel's grip. "Ai, 'Fin, Asfaloth's in fine condition. He'll bear you well on the journey tomorrow."

Glorfindel could feel the boy tense and accusing eyes turned swiftly up to him. He sighed. "I hadn't told him yet, 'Thel," he said, and then looked contritely down at his little friend. "I am sorry, sweet one, I *will* be travelling from the city, and it is no short patrol. I must bear a message beyond the Encircling Mountains to Nargothrond and I will be gone for at least a month. Here," he pulled off his mithril ring, "I meant to give our token to you later but you had better take it now."

Erestor nodded disconsolately. "A promise," he whispered.

"Aye, pen-neth. A promise." Glorfindel dropped a kiss onto the soft black hair.

* * * *

Glorfindel knew that something was amiss as soon as he rode into the stable yard, and his heart clenched with foreboding. Mirieth was awaiting him, her face wet with tears and her hands wringing in anxiety. He leapt from Asfaloth's back before the horse drew to a halt.

"Mirieth, what is wrong? What ails you?"

The elleth shook her head in misery, the words tumbling from her mouth.

"He's gone, my lord. He's gone! His mother died but three days after you left, and her pyre burned, then she took him and now he's gone!"

Glorfindel gripped the distraught elleth's shoulders, shaking her lightly in an effort to calm her.

"Where, Mirieth? Where has she taken him?"

The elleth took deep breaths. She had been waiting for her lord's return for so long, repeating her tale over and over in her head, so fearing his reaction that she was almost overcome with hysteria. She took one last inhalation and tried to steady her voice.

"Aerwroth has taken him back with her to her own house, The House of the Harp. She said it was her right as Erestor's only living relative. Oh my lord, she dressed him in that awful black immediately, almost with glee. And she has dismissed Díwen. She said she would hire a nursemaid herself, one who was not a spy." Mirieth looked directly into Glorfindel's eyes. "I have attended upon her three times, my lord. She will not let me see him."

Glorfindel ground his teeth in anger. "She will let *me*," he growled and snatching at Mirieth's wrist he strode from the yard.

They must have been quite a sight, the golden lord striding through the streets of the White City and the elleth being dragged behind, almost running in an effort to keep up with the long strides of the large elf. The twists and turns were many but soon they were before the House of the Harp, and its gates were open to them.

No one in Gondolin did not recognise the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. His strength, bravery and formidable skill in the service of the King was renowned and the warriors of the Harp were among his many admirers; the more so perhaps because the same admiration could not be extended to their own Lord. For Salgant, it was rumoured, was no true warrior. It was to his chambers that Glorfindel and Mirieth were directed.

The Lord of the Harp was not impressed with the greeting he received.

"Salgant, you have a boy living in this house - a boy called Erestor - and I want to see him *now*!"

The lord of the house quavered inwardly, for Glorfindel unleashed was not a sight for the faint hearted, yet he maintained his outward façade of authority, an act he had perfected through the centuries. He slowly looked up and down the figure of his counterpart, noticing in disdain the travel-stained leathers. Salgant was nothing if not fastidious about his own appearance.

"Glorfindel, is your errand so urgent that you could not change before arranging a visit to a fellow lord? I must say your choice of garb is most ... aromatic." There were a few titters from Salgant's advisors. Glorfindel took no notice.

"The boy, Salgant."

Salgant placed one finger to his cheek, pretending to ponder upon the question. "Ah, yes, Aerwithen's get. I know of this child, for the sister, Aerwroth has come before me asking for advice on this matter." He turned to one of the pages. "Please ask Mistress Aerwroth to come before me - and bring the boy." The page hurried to do his master's bidding. Salgant turned back to Glorfindel who still held firm to Mirieth's wrist, an obviously uncomfortable situation for the elleth as her face bore signs of the pain. A slight tug drew his attention to her discomfort and he released her.

"And what advice did *Mistress Aerwroth* seek?" asked Glorfindel, his opinion of the elleth clear in his tone.

"Why, a legal matter," Salgant declared, "That of custody of the child. In fact, I took counsel with Turgon, but it seems the law is clear."

At that moment the door to the chamber opened and Aerwroth strode in, followed by a nursemaid leading the small child clad in black. Glorfindel made to reach for the child but Salgant's upraised hand stalled him.

"Hold, Glorfindel! For the counsel given to me was thus - in the absence of both parents, custody of an orphan child passes to their nearest relative, if that person is willing to give an abode to the child. Aerwroth is willing. Therefore," the lord smirked, "Erestor son of Aerwithen is now in her charge and is henceforth a member of the House of the Harp. The King has spoken."

Glorfindel did not move for a moment, did not blink as the news sank in. He felt hollow as if he had lost part of himself, and knew not what to say. Mirieth stood behind him, seeing her lord's pain, silently weeping. Her lord raised his head, a bleak look upon his face.

"Please, let me hold him one more time. Let me say goodbye?"

Salgant was satisfied. For so long he had heard the sneering rumours about his own valour, had heard the unfavourable comparisons with this knight of high fame and virtue. It was good to hear the plea in the golden lord's voice, to bring him to beg before him. He gestured to Erestor, nodding to the black-shrouded elleth.

"Aye, I am sure Mistress Aerwroth can have no objection to such a simple request, eh my lady?"

Glorfindel knelt and, at a gesture from Aerwroth, the nursemaid released Erestor's hand. The child flew into Glorfindel's arms.

Glorfindel clutched his little one close to his breast, and closed his eyes tight in a vain effort to prevent the tears from falling. How had such a tiny creature gained such a hold over his heart in only a few months? What power did Erestor possess that he felt so lost at this removal? How could he let him go? Yet he must. Pulling the child away from him he looked into Erestor's eyes. His throat was choked, yet he must speak.

"Pen-vuil, it is not my wish but you- you must stay here with your aunt." The child wailed, a cry that formed a small fissure in Glorfindel's heart. "No, pen-neth, listen! I will always love you, sweet one. I will come to see you as often as I may. I won't forget you, Erestor." The tears were freely flowing now from both adult and child, Erestor wailing in the understanding that he would not be returning home with his Glo'fin'l. The nursemaid tried to take Erestor's hand but he only clung tighter to his lord and finally she gripped him firmly and tore him away, bearing him from the room. Erestor's screams could be heard resounding down the corridor.

Aerwroth approached the kneeling Glorfindel. "My Lord, I found this among the child's possessions. I would not have one of my house said to be a thief, so I return it to you now." She held out her hand and upon it lay a mithril ring. Glorfindel groaned.

"It was a pledge, a promise," he whispered.

"Well, he will not need it now." The elleth dropped the ring, which bounced upon the marble floor, rolling to a final stop at his feet. "Goodbye, my lord".

The final shreds holding his heart rent into two as her footsteps echoed down the corridor, falling away to nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:  
> elleth - female elf (sing.)  
> pen-neth - little one  
> saes - please  
> mae govannen - well met  
> pen-vuil - dear one


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - this chapter references child abuse and neglect (not explicit)

F.A. 470

 

If you did not know Glorfindel well you would have noticed no difference in the golden lord's demeanour. Ecthelion knew him well, and noted the changes with dismay. No more did he see that brilliant smile; or hear the resounding laugh; or feel the power and concentration in battle that Glorfindel normally imbued in his sparring sessions. All were gone, and the golden lord was a shadow. His outward face was the same but his heart was in the House of the Harp, in the keeping of a small boy called Erestor.

Why this should be so Ecthelion could not understand. Glorfindel had had many partners, light flirtations with ellyn and ellith, but had never shown the slightest inclination to settle down, wed and raise a family. At the age when most elves thought of love, the age that Iluvatar had appointed as shortly after majority, Glorfindel had been fighting for his life. Glorfindel and Ecthelion had been among the host that had traversed the Helcaraxë; that grinding, freezing waste of crushing ice and snow. Survival was all that mattered, and the survivors had rejoiced that they still lived. The centuries following had been times of starvation, toil and fear. The endless battles; the fall of Fingon; the constant attacks by Melkor's minions had pushed aside the need or opportunity to procreate for so many warriors. Only the past three hundred years and the relative peace and safety of Gondolin had allowed the elves to resume that which might otherwise have been thought of as a ‘normal life'.

So far Glorfindel had not found that one, ellon or elleth, who was the other half of his soul. Yet he obviously wanted a child, one who would love him unconditionally and it seemed he had found him in Erestor.

Until he had lost him.

Glorfindel had not given up easily. He had tried to make good on his promise to Erestor, had visited the House of the Harp with books and treats and toys for the boy – but there had always been an excuse. The boy is sleeping. The boy is at his lessons. The boy is indisposed. Always he had been refused entrance until finally he had been called before the king and, after protest from Salgant, been told to stop his ‘harassment' of the boy and his aunt. Thus he was effectively barred from that which he longed for most.

 

Ecthelion knew that Glorfindel wasn't alone in his sorrow. Mirieth had taken hard the loss of the boy, for she saw it as a failure to her lord. Her niece too was saddened, for the sweetness of Erestor had endeared him to her heart. Thus they were a triad, feeding off one another in their grief so that none may heal; and Glorfindel was worst.

The Lord of the House of the Fountain had thus taken it upon himself to support his friend and to turn his thoughts elsewhere.

* * * *

Glorfindel sighed. He could cheerfully kill Ecthelion. Quickly of course, he wasn't cruel. Still, death was on the cards for the dark-haired lord. Perhaps he could drown him in one of his own fountains? No, too long. Impale him upon the spike of his own helm? Now *that* was an idea. Very delightful to contemplate. Much more so than another of these interminable ‘entertainments' Ecthelion had organised for him. Not that it was presented as such. Just lots and lots of eligible ellyn and ellith who would just *love* to become ‘friends' with the golden lord, who flattered and pouted and wanted to… comfort him. Beautiful, desirable, elegant and utterly boring. On second thought, death was too good for ‘Thel. He'd just lock him in this room with these twittering idiots for a few days and see how *he* liked it.

"Thank you so much for your observations, you are very wise." Glorfindel didn't know and didn't care what the elleth had been blithering on about but from the look on her face as he strode away he hadn't given the appropriate answer. Tough. He approached his friend through the milling throngs gracing the ball.

" ‘Thel, I'll take my leave of you now. It has been a long day and…" His voice trailed off, for he didn't even have the will to make an excuse. Ecthelion hesitated as if deciding whether to remonstrate with him, then simply laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Maer dú, meldir," he said simply, and watched with sad eyes as Glorfindel exited his halls.

The night air was brisk and laden with the promise of more snow as Glorfindel stepped out into the street. It was now late winter, and three months had passed since… Glorfindel shook his head as if trying to break the train of his thoughts. Was he always going to hearken back to that day in Salgant's council chamber? It was over. It was finished. Life moves on.

The golden lord was startled when he saw where his feet had led him. Not to his bedchambers, warm with the heat from the open fire, aglow with the light from the many candles. Not to the large-framed bed, blankets with a green coverlet embroidered with the golden celandine of his House.

He sat heavily on the grass in the shadowed corner of his garden, playing with the mithril ring upon his finger, caring not that the snow was wet and cold. He did not look to his side but straight across the darkened lawns of his house. If he looked straight ahead he could pretend that a little bundle of rags sat beside him.

He doubled up at that thought, dry sobs escaping from his heaving chest. Stop it, he admonished himself. No more. How long he sat he didn't know but he was pulled from his solitude when he heard shouts from behind him. He turned, surprised to see Mirieth running across the snow, long skirts flying.

"My lord!" she called. "I have news!" She gasped to a halt in front of him. "I have news – of Erestor!" Her tone was frantic and Glorfindel lurched in despair. He grasped at her shoulders to steady her but let her continue without prompting, for she needed none.

"I have been visiting with a friend in the House of the Hammer and he has a lady friend, a love who is of the House of the Harp, I confided in him of our troubles some months past. His beloved is a servant in her House and they have been passing onto me any news of Erestor."

"Why did you not tell me before?" asked Glorfindel. He would have given anything for news of his little one and Mirieth knew that full well. The elleth shook her head.

"There was naught really to tell. A child's voice heard here, a sighting there – just enough to tell me he was well. Aerwroth is not a person to be crossed and this elleth did not want to jeopardise her position but – a week ago she heard cries from Aerwroth's rooms. A child's screams. She alerted her superior but was told to hold her tongue. She has passed these rooms again and heard whimpering, then - since two days ago – nothing. She did not see her lover until this morning, and I him tonight. Oh my lord, what has she done to our little boy?" Her face crumpled in torment at the thoughts that crossed her mind.

The rage was overwhelming. It was liken to the battle rage Glorfindel experienced in war and, as at those times, his instinct sharpened. The orders came quickly.

" Collect Díwen and send a messenger to Lord Ecthelion. Tell him to meet me at the House of the Harp, for I will be in need of a witness to my acts this night. Go, do as I ask and meet me at the main door."

Glorfindel raced to his rooms where he stopped only to collect his broadsword. No one would stand in his way tonight.

Their passage to the House of the Harp was swift, for the streets were almost deserted at this late hour, yet it was not so late that the doors of the house were barred. Nevertheless, an elf bearing arms was not to be borne. Lord or no, Glorfindel was challenged.

"Hold my lord, what disaster has happened that brings you here so armed?" cried the captain, motioning his men to cut off the entrance. Glorfindel growled, a primal sound that struck fear into the men's hearts yet they moved to obey their captain.

"Let me pass, Tawaron, my business is with your master and with the elleth Aerwroth. Escort me if you will, for what I go to see must be witnessed by more than one. If you know the way to Aerwroth's chambers I beg of your mercy, lead me there – at once."

Tawaron did not hesitate, for he knew of that which had passed between Glorfindel and Salgant at their last meeting, and he had no love for Aerwroth. Furthermore, he was a father and had felt for the boy.

 

"This way, my lord." Tawaron lead them through the darkened corridors of the house, Glorfindel following, and Mirieth and Díwen behind. They halted before an oak door, stout – but if looks could kindle fire, this would have been ashes in seconds. Glorfindel pounded upon it. There was noise as in the drawing back of bolts and the door slowly swung open. Glorfindel did not hesitate. Pushing past the servant he marched into the room. Aerwroth stood before him.

"Where is the boy?" he snarled. Aerwroth tried to stand firm.

"This is an outrage…" she began but got no further as the tip of the giant sword pressed under her chin.

"Now, where is the boy?" Glorfindel repeated. The elleth was too stricken with fear to answer, to respond in any way, but the servant pointed to a door in the right hand wall of the room and the corridor beyond. Glorfindel made his down the passage, flinging the doors wide in his search. He came to the last, which was locked. Not waiting for a key, he flung his shoulder at it, cracking the lock.

The room was cold, deathly cold for no fire was lit to salve the winter frost. Though bearable for an adult elf it would be bitter for a child combined with the dankness of the air. It was dark, and a stench permeated the chamber. Glorfindel called for a light. At that moment Ecthelion arrived, tumbling through the door in his obvious haste.

"I'm sorry, I was delayed - oh, Varda's mercy!" he exclaimed in horror as the light was brought to bear on the room's contents.

The cause of the stench was quickly obvious. A bucket had obviously been used as a privy, and was filled to overflowing. A dishpan was filled with water that was in no way fresh and a plate bore evidence of mouldy crusts of bread. Ecthelion turned to Aerwroth, who cowered at the entrance to the room, his eyes wide with disgust and amazement.

"Vile creature, what have you done?" he breathed.

Glorfindel took no notice as he turned to the mean bed, a threadbare blanket draped upon it and a black bundle upon that in turn. A stride and he knelt beside it, hand hovering over the tiny figure, dread binding his heart. He knew he could wait no longer and that every moment could count. Gently, as if stroking a butterfly, he lifted the lacklustre strands of hair from the boy's face.

"Erestor?" His voice cracked, his throat clogged with sobs and tears he had no time to shed. "Pen-neth, can you hear me?"

The moment halted, time seemed to stand still as all held their breath, then the eyes opened, thick dark lashes sweeping upwards to reveal those brown irises. They stared, no spark of intelligence in them, then suddenly they focused. The parched red lips opened, trying to form a word.

"Glo'fin'l"

Swiftly the golden lord stripped the boy of the filthy clothes, checking him for any broken bones. There seemed to be none, but plenty of bruises, fresh and old.

"Quickly, Mirieth, find some blankets, clean and warm. Díwen, a cup of fresh water please."

The ellith hastened to do their lord's bidding, horrified at the state of the child. Gently, Glorfindel coaxed Erestor to sip the water, soothing and cradling the child to his breast, wrapping him against the winter's chill. A commotion in the outer rooms drew Ecthelion's attention and he grimaced as he recognised the strident tones of Salgant.

"Glorfindel, you were warned - !" The Lord strode into the room then halted, his face screwed up against the noisome smell. The golden lord stood, holding his precious bundle against his chest.

"Aye," he said, his voice flat, "I was warned and now I warn *you*. If anyone *dares* to try to take this child from me again he will see my sword at his throat - and feel it go through. I declare that this child, Erestor son of Galwion, is now a scion of the House of the Golden Flower and under *my* protection. For you have failed this child sorely and have forfeited all rights of control over him. Ecthelion of the Fountain, do you bear witness?"

Ecthelion nodded grimly. "I do, and I will go now to Turgon and inform him of the events of this night. Tawaron, I call upon you to escort me, for you too have been a witness to these foul deeds. Bring the elleth for she must stand forth for these crimes." He leant down to retrieved Glorfindel's sword, raising it high. At that Aerwroth screamed, fearing it was to be used against her. Tawaron only nodded to one of his guards to drag her away. He turned to Salgant, who had been protesting no knowledge of Aerwroth's deeds.

"By your leave, my lord?" Salgant nodded, a cloth pressed to his nose. He looked nauseous and would put up no fight. Glorfindel pushed past him, intent on bringing his little one home.

* * * *

They cried that night, all of them, as they gently bathed and fed Erestor. Mirieth dipped sops of fresh bread into warm milk and Erestor took them eagerly, desperate for the nourishment. Díwen fetched clean clothes and salves for his bruises. Glorfindel cradled his boy, smoothing his hair, softly singing sweet songs. He turned his attention from Erestor only when Ecthelion arrived, followed by the king's daughter, Idril Celebrindal. The ellith quickly curtseyed to the floor but Idril just smiled and waved for them to rise. Glorfindel did not move but simply nodded his head. He had known the princess for years beyond count and in private stood upon no ceremony with her. He turned to Ecthelion.

"What news?"

Ecthelion smiled.

"He is yours now, my friend. The King heard testimony from Tawaron and myself and has laid upon Aerwroth the punishment of imprisonment for at least fifty years. Salgant has received censure, though Maeglin argued that if Salgant didn't know he could hardly be blamed. Rog pointed out that ignorance of the activities in his own House is hardly befitting a Lord. Meanwhile, our pen-neth is your responsibility from this night until the day of his majority."

The princess knelt before the tired child taking one small hand in hers, stroking his face gently with the other.

"He is lovely, Glorfindel. To know that he has been the victim of such evil I can hardly bear to contemplate. I offer my protection as well, if you will allow it." She looked up at the warrior, seeing gratitude and love for the child so evident in his eyes. "He will be the most loved child in all Gondolin, and probably the most spoilt too."

Glorfindel chuckled. "Too true, eh pen-neth?"

There was no answer, for a glaze had come over those chocolate eyes and, with a thumb in his little mouth, Irmo took him into his garden of Lórien in the Land of Dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:  
> ellyn – male elves (pl.)  
> ellith – female elves (pl.)  
> elleth – female elf (sing.)  
> maer dú – good night  
> meldir – my friend  
> pen-neth – little one


	4. Chapter 4

F.A. 470 - onwards

 

Children are resilient. Although it cannot be said that Erestor was not affected by his early trauma, he became a bright, though reserved, child as he blossomed in the care of those he loved. Within his immediate family there was of course Glorfindel, his shining light; Mirieth, who though she had to attend to the needs of her own family was looked upon by Erestor as a mother; Díwen, who was his nursemaid as a child and a sister as a youth; and Ecthelion, who (so Glorfindel said) was ‘a bad influence', for he loved to tell tales of the mischief he and Glorfindel had gotten in to at their own majority. However amongst the other elves of Gondolin, other than with Idril Celebrindal, Erestor remained a quiet child. He often stood in keen observation of the world around him, seemingly separate from it. His chambers in the house were near Glorfindel's and were a treasure trove of books and toys and other childish treats, for Glorfindel could deny his pen-neth nothing. Fortunately Erestor was greedy for nothing except his golden lord's attention, and did not become spoilt as the princess had predicted.

Physically he grew slim and willowy, and bearing a grace beyond his years. He would not be counted amongst the tallest of his contemporaries but his bearing and carriage gave the illusion of a height which he did not possess. His beauty also grew and his waist-length hair soon regained its deep lustre, swaying as a black veil around his shoulders. He left it loose except on horseback when it was braided into a single plait, thick as rope down the curve of his spine. His eyes, rich and deep, were framed by luscious lashes of which many elleth could only dream. The exotic slant was much remarked on and drew many admiring glances as an elfling. His skin retained the hue of cream and the texture of silk and the rose-red lips curved in gentle smiles. As he became a youth both ellyn and ellith gazed upon him in desire and he was the secret target of lust of older elves.

His keen intelligence and thirst for knowledge thrilled his tutors, and their reports were overflowing with compliments. Often when he did not appear at the table for meals he could be found engrossed in books, scrolls or other tomes and had to be physically removed from the library by an irate Mirieth.

His weapons masters were not so gushing with their compliments. Erestor could only be regarded as competent in the use of sword, knife and bow even with the extra tutoring such eminent elves as Glorfindel and Ecthelion bestowed upon him. In truth Erestor would often neglect his swordplay for an extra hour in the library. He *did* excel in horsemanship for his delight at being upon Asfaloth's back transferred into a deep love of all things equine, and he soon progressed from gentle ponies to spirited mares. Glorfindel would not let him exercise Asfaloth though, much to his chagrin.

Most of all the devotion of the two elves was obvious to all. They seemed to many as to be of one mind; one soul in a single body, though none could define why. They did not look alike. They did not act alike. It was more in their reaction to each other - if one prospered the other was elated; if one was hurt in mind or body the second ailed until the first was healed. A separation of yards across a crowded room was not an obstacle; if one turned to look for the other their eyes met without searching; if one needed the other within moments they were side by side. They were each dependant on the other, though of course as a child for Erestor it was more so. Glorfindel was like a bear with his cub, fiercely protective, his growl enough to cause fear in those who would have presumed or pestered the boy. No one was to harm *his* Erestor.

To Glorfindel the boy looked for all things - for sheer joy of life; for approval; to share a tale; to ride upon the plains of Tumladen; to stroll the market streets, Glorfindel's arm flung across his shoulders, enjoying the delights of the day; for the touch of a gentle hand stroking his hair as they curled in conversation by the fire on long winter eves. Reprimands from his hero were few and far between and would make both of them unhappy for days. They were seen as father and son, though Glorfindel would not allow the use of those terms, protesting that he could not deny Erestor his heritage.

" His father was Galwion, a valiant warrior; his mother, Aerwithen, who loved him. I will not deprive him of his family. I am his guardian and he is my ward."

To those who looked, that was the relationship they saw and they delighted in the happiness evident therein. For only with Glorfindel did the boy seem at ease and only from the warrior would Erestor accept those physical symbols of familial love – a hug, a chaste kiss onto black head or a ruffle of dark hair in jest or joy. But some can see farther and deeper than others, and one worried observer was alarmed at what he could divine from those seemingly innocent touches.

 

* * * *

 

F.A. 502

Even after her marriage to the human Lord Tuor, the princess had kept her promise of protection and interest in Erestor. As he grew into a fine young ellon she undertook his education in the intricacies of the King's court and the manners expected from a young lord, for Erestor was regarded as Glorfindel's heir and drew much interest from the Houses in that matter alone. Idril began to introduce him at small gatherings she held in the King's tower, where the youth of Gondolin could mingle under the watchful eye of their parents and guardians. Thus Erestor learned to build his public persona, bowing to the elves who cast longing glances at his beautiful, exotic eyes. Glorfindel often attended these soirees, lightly flirting with those unbound adults who sought his attentions. Although he had not abstained totally during his guardianship his sexual liaisons had thinned somewhat, ostensibly because he did not want to expose his charge to unseemly ideas. Yet recently he had found himself becoming aroused for no apparent reason, his appetites enlarging and needing release. This evening the Lord and his ward were in great demand.

Erestor had recently passed his forty-first birthday and was beginning to awaken to the charms and attractions of males and females, though of course he could take no action until his majority. He and his acquaintances among the juniors of the royal court mingled extensively with the young ladies within the salon. Yet he constantly looked to where the chaperones stood, secretly watching that golden head. His glances were noticed by the one who watched, who frowned when he saw a sudden change in the expression of the boy.

Glorfindel was seated amongst the older elves and the current focus of his attentions was a certain lady from the House of the Tree. He had been conducting a delightful dalliance with her for some months now which the elleth was sure would evolve into something more permanent. Glorfindel was tempted for she was very fair but, as he had found so often recently, there was something unsatisfactory, something lacking in the relationship; some distraction that called his attention elsewhere. A physical cause of distraction at this moment was the dark Lord of the Fountain who, making his excuses to the lady, drew his friend away, seeking a corner where they would not be overheard.

"What do you need, ‘Thel? For I will tell you, you have disturbed a very promising liaison."

"Nay, as always it would have come to naught," said Ecthelion cryptically. He nodded at the gathering of elflings. "It is to another that I draw your attention."

"Erestor?" Glorfindel turned to face the room. He did not have to search for the boy for the connection between them was such that he could feel his pen-neth's direction. He studied the raven-haired youth. The lad had a sullen look on his face, swiftly hidden when he saw that he was being watched. Glorfindel frowned.

"What is wrong with him? He looks as a child would who has been deprived of his favourite toy. "

Ecthelion darted a startled glance at his friend, as if he had spoken a hidden truth. Glorfindel saw it and raised an eyebrow in question. The Lord of the Fountain hesitated, not knowing how to express his fears now that the moment had arrived.

"Not his favourite toy – his favourite Lord." Ecthelion realised that Glorfindel had no idea of what he was intimating. "He fears losing you."

Glorfindel laughed, confused. "What are you talking about? He's not going to lose me!"

Ecthelion shook his head. "He saw you courting that elleth, mellon nîn. He isn't happy about it at all."

Glorfindel glanced over his shoulder at the lady in question. His attentions to her had been direct and she was watching him, flushed with obvious desire. Then he looked at Erestor, who too stared at the elleth. He was shocked to see the intense look of jealousy – no, hatred – upon his charge's face.

"But I'm not looking for a mother for him!" the warrior protested. Ecthelion shook his head.

"He isn't looking at her as a potential step-mother, ‘Fin. He sees her as a potential rival." He placed a hand on Glorfindel's arm, trying to convey the strength of his beliefs and his fears. "He's not a child anymore, my friend, it is but nine years to his coming of age. Erestor knows what he wants – and he wants *you*. Perhaps you'd better examine your own feelings too, ‘Fin, because I've seen you looking at him in eligible company, when you didn't think anyone was watching. You have worn that same look upon your face. Not protective - possessive." He paused, considering his final words. "You've always said you didn't want to be his father. Just what *do* you want to be to him, ‘Fin?"

With that he left, knowing that he had said all he could for the moment, hoping that Glorfindel would not hate him in the future for his warning.

Glorfindel stood stunned and silent at the edge of the room, as the full meaning of the conversation came crashing into his consciousness. It was if a veil had been torn down, a barrier had been shattered, and everything had a sudden clarity – the colours of the elves' robes, the soft tunes played by the musicians, the clashing chatter of discussion, laughter, cries, shouts.

And in the middle of that stood Erestor. The raven-haired elf had turned, sensing his lord across the crowds - and Erestor smiled, a brilliant smile that had only ever been for him alone. In that moment, his heartbeat raced. He felt a fluttering in his stomach and a wave of heat swept from his groin as the blood began to pool there, as his desire began to swell. Glorfindel finally saw what Ecthelion had seen.

In every soft face he had touched recently, his hand had been searching for that creamy silk texture. The eyes that had met his own had all been dark, lustful, wanting – but he had seen only deep, warm, chocolate-brown pools of desire. As brunette hair had slipped through his fingers he had imagined those midnight tresses, as soft and as heavy as velvet. Lips had been plundered aplenty but he only sought those rose-red ones, petals parted in sweet surrender. All those willing bodies beneath his own; hot, slick, writhing and yet his thirst had not been slaked.

His heart and his soul had yearned only for that which could complete him.

The room faded and they were the only two elves who existed and the truth pounded in his brain.

Just when had Erestor fallen in love with Glorfindel – and when had he, Glorfindel, fallen in love with his sweet, precious pen-neth?

* * * *

 

They left the palace early, well before their usual departure time. Normally they would entertain each other during their walk home with titbits of gossip and news they had heard during their evening, but Glorfindel was silent and Erestor copied him. He could recognise that the golden lord was deeply troubled but mild cajoling did not bring the issue forth and Erestor knew better than to press him. Nevertheless he was worried. Glorfindel would normally by now have reassured him, saying ‘It is not you, pen-neth, fear not, all will be well.' He did not, and now the youth felt a cold spasm cross his heart.

There were no suggestions of refreshments, of sitting by the fire in comfortable company. Instead Erestor was bid a curt ‘Maer dú' as Glorfindel shut the door of his bedchamber, and Erestor was left to make his way to his own room alone. Erestor washed and changed into his sleeping trousers but as he lay in his bed he could not sleep.

An hour later he heard Glorfindel's door open, footsteps, then a short time after, the House door. Glorfindel was gone.

 

****

 

Ecthelion knew who stood silently at the door of his study, who waited for him to lift his head from the letter he was writing. He would not consciously prolong his wait, his agony.

The large elflord stood framed in the darkened doorway, the tension and anguish clear on his face.

"I love him, ‘Thel."

Ecthelion leapt from his seat, crossing the room in two strides to enfold the shaking lord in his arms. They stood there for long moments as Ecthelion waited for the silent, violent tremors to subside, then led his friend to the chairs flanking the empty fireplace. Glorfindel crumpled into the chair, head slumped forward into his hands. Finally he raised his head and Ecthelion winced at the despair in those sapphire eyes.

"What am I ‘Thel? What kind of loathsome creature am I that I feel such desire for one so young? I felt him at my side tonight, I walked beside him and I realised that all I wanted to do was to pull him into my arms, to hold him, to kiss him, to – take - him and make him my own…" The lord's voice had risen to the point of hysteria and Ecthelion had to act quickly to break that train of thought.

"You are Glorfindel, an elf of honour and high morals, strong ethics and intense emotions. That you can even *think* of yourself in those other terms tells me that you still hold true to the values that bind you so." He took a deep breath, deliberately softening his firm tone. "You are a sensual, open-hearted, warm-blooded elf, Glorfindel, and Erestor is an astoundingly beautiful and enticing ellon. You are only feeling what many others do upon seeing him." He held up a hand to forestall Glorfindel's threatened outburst. " Ai, I know my friend – that is not all that there is to Erestor. Do not forget, mellon nîn, I have seen you with him. You rejoice in his intelligence, his wit and his humour. You revel in his kind nature, his depth of insight and his sweetness of temper. You *know* him, Glorfindel. There is a connection between you which is beyond the understanding of those who desire him. The difference, my friend, is that the others only covet that beauteous exterior where as you love him in his entirety, hröa and fëa."

Glorfindel started hearing Ecthelion say those words, words that were so integral to the elven binding ceremony.

"Surely you don't mean…?"

Ecthelion nodded. "Yes, dear friend. I truly believe that he is the other half of your soul. Isn't that what your own heart has been telling you? What drew you to him first as a child? Why did you protect him so strongly? What compelled you to rescue him at sword-point? The mind does not always recognize that which the soul knows so well."

Glorfindel shook his head, hardly knowing what to believe. His mind had been in a constant whirl since the soiree, trying to take in Ecthelion's revelations. And if Ecthelion could see the contents of his heart so easily, who else knew?

"Gods – if anyone else knows – ‘Thel, they will take him from me!" The panic was rapidly rising; the elf was becoming agitated. "I can't lose him, ‘Thel – I can't lose Erestor! What can I do?"

Ecthelion stood, hauling Glorfindel up with him. "What *we* are going to do, mellon nîn, is see Turgon – now."

Glorfindel wrenched his arm from Ecthelion's grasp. "Are you mad?"

"'Fin, as beloved as you are amongst our people, there *are* some who would be delighted to see you brought low – Salgant included. He hates you and loathes Erestor for the humiliation he thinks you brought upon him. If he gets wind of this he'll go straight to Turgon and you'll never see Erestor again. Oh, and Maeglin isn't exactly your greatest fan either – you supported Tuor and danced at his wedding to Idril. And he at least has some influence with his uncle. We have to get in first, and get the king on *your* side. Come on." Ecthelion started towards the door.

"Now? Ecthelion, it's the middle of the night!"

The dark-haired lord turned at the exit. "'Fin, it is barely past midnight, Turgon is never in bed before three of the morn. Anyway he is expecting us – Idril and Tuor went on ahead to warn him."

Glorfindel hesitated. "You told them?"

Ecthelion shrugged. "You needed allies. Now, let's go."

* * * *

It was a small gathering in the king's private chambers. Turgon sat in an ornate chair, a strong impressive Lord wrapped in rich silk robes, his chin on his hand as he heard the dilemma facing him. He looked carefully at those ranged before him. Glorfindel, pale in his love and fear of loss, Ecthelion standing firm at his side; his daughter Idril seated near him, the swelling of her first pregnancy barely evident; Tuor, the human lord of whom he thought so highly that he bestowed his only child upon him, standing beside his wife's chair with his hand on her shoulder. He sighed, knowing that this was a problem which could have no easy outcome.

"Ecthelion, you are an idiot. Your heart is good but this has not been handled well."

Ecthelion gasped, and Glorfindel made as if to come to his friend's defence but the king motioned them to silence.

"If you had come to me without telling Glorfindel, we could have made light of the boy's infatuation. All youths must have a hero, one they think they will love forever, and the devotion of the boy could have been passed off as such without much comment. In bringing this to Glorfindel's attention you have revealed his own feelings towards his ward, which is a much more serious matter." He turned to the golden lord. Glorfindel was obviously dreading his judgement, and Turgon could only feel compassion for his friend.

"Glorfindel, I believe you when you say your love is true, and much of what Ecthelion had noted in your manner towards Erestor has been noted by myself and my daughter. You are one of my oldest and most devoted Lords, my friend, and although I allow my subjects freedom in their lives it does not mean I am unaware of their hopes and dreams. In other circumstances I would probably remove the boy from your care and place him out of perceived harm's way."

This was Glorfindel's greatest fear and he protested - loudly.

"Never! I will never let him be taken from me again, king or no king!" His tone changed, a plaintive plea entering his voice. "My Lord King, I know that he is yet a child and much too young for a physical love. I will *not* approach him. I will not hurt him. I *cannot* hurt him, for how can I hurt the one I love? If I can protect my pen-neth from the predations of others, how can I not protect him from myself?" He paused, catching his breath, desperate to change Turgon's mind. "Please my lord, please -"

"Glorfindel!" The king spoke firmly without increasing the volume of his voice, and the warrior subsided reluctantly. "I did say, ‘in other circumstances'. Both Ecthelion and Idril have offered to care for him if my decision had been so but that, I feel, will engender the scrutiny we are trying at all costs to avoid. Now, are we sure of the boy's feelings? Does he truly love Glorfindel or is this just a crush? Is he your soul mate, my lord?"

Glorfindel hesitated, numbly nodding. "He is to me, sire. We have not spoken to him, but ‘Thel believes he feels it too - "

The princess leaned forward. "As do I father. It is very evident in Erestor's eyes."

Turgon nodded. "Were he but one hundred years older, this conversation would be redundant. Lovers of disparate ages have been accepted since the Awakening of our people, for Ilúvatar sends our souls into the world at the time He has decided. If it is meant to be, they meet and they bind. The situation here arises from the fact that Erestor is still a minor." He sighed, knowing this must be his final decision.

"So be it. Glorfindel, I will allow Erestor to remain in your charge under certain conditions. Tonight you will go to him and reveal to him your true feelings. Ecthelion will be your chaperone. If Erestor returns these feelings wholeheartedly then I place these restrictions upon you. You will both return here tomorrow night and in a private ceremony swear blood oaths that nothing improper will occur until the boy has come of age. No words, no touches, no kisses – nothing. He must be to you as he has always been, your ward. He must remain an innocent. And if on the day of his majority both of you still feel the same then I will, with all gladness in my heart, receive back those oaths in exchange for your betrothal vows."

Turgon smiled, and delighted bursts of happiness and relief swept the room. The king, once again serious, continued. "However if I hear in any way that either of you is forsworn then I will take the boy into *my* custody and lock him up so tight you will need Manwë to break open his prison! Is that clearly understood my lords?!"

The fairness and compassion of the king was so generous that Glorfindel agreed without delay and, after many hugs from Idril and claps on shoulders from Tuor, eagerly swept Ecthelion from the room in his haste to return to Erestor.

* * * *

Erestor was still awake and quickly came to Glorfindel's study when collected by Ecthelion. In the faint glow of the candlelight the Lord of the Fountain stood guard at the door so none would hear, as well as standing as chaperone for Erestor. The youth balked at first at discussing his feelings for he felt embarrassed and scared, but when he understood that Glorfindel returned his love he was overcome with ecstasy and flung his arms about his beloved, kissing him all over his face with wild abandon. Glorfindel too laughed with joy but then had to quiet his little love to put forth the restrictions placed upon them. Erestor was horrified.

 

"How could you agree to such a plan?" he cried, shaking in anger. "Nine years? Nine whole years we must wait and I can never say ‘I love you', never hold you, never kiss you? I cannot bear to live that way. No, I cannot swear such an oath!"

"Then I hope you like the King's Tower, pen-neth," said Ecthelion wryly from the door, "for that will be your new home from this night."

Erestor paled. Although he had been just a babe when he had first been torn from his beloved's arms the pain which had twisted relentlessly in his heart then was still vividly remembered. He lifted his face to his love, seeking reassurance.

"Truly? If I do not agree then I must leave you?"

Glorfindel nodded, gripping his pen-vuil's hands tightly, holding his eyes firmly locked onto Erestor's. The youth slumped, defeated. Nine years without declaring his love was better than nine years separation. He nodded his acquiescence.

And so it was that the following night, in the presence of their closest friends, Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower and Erestor, son of Galwion took blood oaths of celibacy and silence before His Majesty Turgon, King of the elven realm of Gondolin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:  
> ellon – male elf   
> elleth – female elf   
> ellyn – male elves  
> ellith – female elves  
> mellon nîn – my friend  
> hröa - body  
> fëa - soul  
> pen-vuil – dear one


	5. Chapter 5

F.A. 510

Glorfindel groaned as he breached the puckered opening of the elf beneath him. His breath coming in short gasps, Erestor fought not to tense against the invasion; chocolate-brown eyes wide open, trust and love for the golden lord shone through the pain. His grip on Glorfindel's hand had clenched as the Elda embedded himself to the root of his shaft and the tight channel enveloped him in delicious heat. Though thoroughly prepared, Erestor was small and Glorfindel was not. Glorfindel grieved at the pain he knew he was inflicting upon his dear one and he leaned forward to kiss the parted lips, sweeping his tongue into the depths of the sweet mouth. The slender elf in turn reached up to welcome his lover eagerly. Glorfindel waited, not moving until the lithe body adjusted to his girth, and when he did move it was in gentle strokes, easing the angle of his motion until he obtained the reaction he yearned for.

Erestor cried out, his body arching. A flood of intense pleasure swept through his body as his lover's shaft pressed against his prostate. Erestor pushed up again, seeking the touch which would repeat the ecstasy, clamping his legs firmly around Glorfindel's waist in an attempt to make the Elda drive deeper into him; to claim him, body and soul. Glorfindel fought the urge to dive forcefully into his beloved's tight chasm, knowing that the sweet Noldo would be more than sore in the morning anyway. He maintained the steady rhythm of his gentle thrusts, watching Erestor writhe beneath him, grasping fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders. Black strands clung to the sweat on Erestor's face and his musical voice cried out, pleading for release.

Glorfindel could hold back no more, needing Erestor as much as his darling needed him. His large hand reached between their bodies, pulling at Erestor's turgid erection with firm strokes as he increased the pace and force of his thrusts.

Erestor screamed one last time as he came undone, the cream of his completion surged over Glorfindel's fingers and smeared onto his belly in thick spurts. The clenching spasms of Erestor's passage brought Glorfindel over the edge and he spilled his hot semen, filling his love as he released his soul.

"My love, my heart!"

****

"Elbereth!"

Glorfindel sat up in the bed, panting heavily in the aftermath of the intense orgasm, sweat covering his broad frame. The evidence of the reality of the dream stained the single sheet which was draped over his long legs and he grimaced in distaste at the mess. Using the corner of the sheet he cleaned himself quickly then flung the fabric off him, swinging his long legs over the side of the large bed. His breath had slowed almost to normal and he cast his mind back over his dream. He smiled grimly as he realised he had called out the wrong name on waking, for it was the Vala Irmo who controlled the world of dreams. He silently sent acknowledgement to the Vala but he did not know whether to send his thanks. The past eight years had been an extreme exercise in self-control for both him and Erestor. The reality of the dream would in no way help him to maintain his restraint in expressing the love he felt for his pen-vuil.

The sun had risen and looking through the open doors of the balcony he could see it had been up for some time. It had not disturbed his rest – no indeed, something else had done *that* - for his room faced west, not east. Glorfindel could hear the daily clamour of an awakened city and without thought for his nakedness strolled out onto the balcony. His nonchalance stemmed from the knowledge that the balustrade covered him to above waist height and also that this building, the House of the Golden Flower, was not overlooked by any other. Indeed the view was stupendous. Two streets away he could see the bustle of the Great Market, alive with activity as always – in fact more so today, the eve of Tarnin Austa. Beyond the Great Market, to the northeast, were the gleaming spires of the King's Tower and the adjacent palace. Beyond that again he could see the Main Gate of the city and the long incline down to the road to the outer gates. To the south was the curve of the city wall against which Tuor and Idril had built their dwelling. Glorfindel smiled at the thought of little Eärendil, the shining light in Turgon's heart. The King doted on his young grandson and the little elfling was a frequent visitor to the House of the Golden Flower. Finally, on turning to the right Glorfindel knew he would be able to see the North Gate of the city, a warning that the North held the dangers of Morgoth and his evil hordes.

Glorfindel sighed thinking of the events of the past years. First the fall of Nargothrond to those hordes, a devastating blow to the Elven residents of Middle Earth; then only three years before, following the death of Elu Thingol at the hands of the dwarves, the final destruction of the royal family of Doriath. Fëanor's sons had descended upon that realm, destroying Menegroth of the Thousand Caves and slaying Dior, Nimloth and their sons in pursuit of their mad oath. Of their daughter Elwing there was no sign though it was rumoured that she had escaped to the south taking the Silmaril with her. Would that it had been found by Celegorm and his siblings, perhaps this insane kin-slaying would cease. Never had he thought when he grew up in the gentle city of Tirion that such devastation would be wrought for the sake of jewels yet he too, in a youthful desire for adventure, had hearkened to the call of Fëanor.

Glorfindel passed his hand over his eyes in pain at the remembrance of Alqualondë and the first kin-slayings. That his hands were free of the blood of his kin was a miracle but he, like so many others, had thought that no such could happen again. Still Menegroth had fallen. Would the Fëanorans never be sated? Glorfindel tried to take comfort in the beautiful city which was now laid before him, but even that was poor solace. When Tuor had arrived in Gondolin from the outside world he had brought with him a warning for the king from Ulmo of death and destruction and of need to flee the Hidden City. Turgon had been reluctant to take such a step and Glorfindel could see why. In his remembrance of Tirion he could only draw favourable comparisons with this magnificent settlement the High King had sculpted. Glorfindel could hardly bear to think of leaving, but in the end he had voted with Tuor and Idril in favour of exodus. Unfortunately Maeglin's influence was strong and Turgon had listened to his sister-son. At least Idril had taken the warning to heart. Glorfindel was one of only a few who knew of her secret way out of the city.

The calls from the streets below roused him from his musings and he smiled happily as he remembered again what day it was. The eve of Tarnin Austa – and Erestor's forty-ninth begetting day. The significance was not wasted upon him. The time now until they could unveil their love would be counted in months not years, in days not months. Time had weighed heavily on them both and more so on Erestor, for his dear one was inflicted with the impatience of youth. It had been very difficult to convey their love to each other when there were so many restrictions. Only by the sweetness of smiles or chaste kiss upon forehead or cheeks could physical expression be given reign. They had developed subtle signs, looks or words which held meaning for their hearts alone and with these they must be content. Not even amongst their closest friends could they show their love, so strict was Turgon's edict.

With that thought Glorfindel was prompted to move and make haste to bathe. The late morning awakening had been in preparation for tonight's vigil but they were expecting company for a celebratory lunch for Erestor. He had better hurry if he was to have any time alone with his pen-neth before their arrival.

His ablutions, though somewhat hasty, were thorough and he dressed with care. A sky-blue tunic edged with gold-embroidered celandines was matched with form-fitting deep blue leggings. High fitting, highly-polished boots completed his ensemble. His hair shone like burnished gold and hung almost to waist length, with warrior-braids to hold it back from his face. His ornamentation was little, a solid gold ring bearing the symbol of his house and the mithril ring upon his smallest finger. He smiled at the thought of this little ring, a trinket he had brought with him from Valinor. It had been a gift from his parents and was engraved with the rune of the letter ‘G'. He planned soon to have a second ring made to fit his index finger, with Erestor's initial emblazoned on it. Thus on this day next year he would place the first ring upon his beloved's finger as a symbol of betrothal, to be exchanged to the right hand on their day of binding. Erestor's fingers were long and slender and what barely fit on Glorfindel's little finger would find a perfect home on his perfect elf. He looked at the ring again. It had been many years since it had been used as the pledge it had once been, for Erestor had grown sure of his returns before he reached the age of thirty and thus he had gently dropped the ritual.

So many memories. A young Erestor crying out for him in the night, needing to be held before returning to sleep; waking in the morning to find an elfling bouncing on his stomach; taking baths together using perfumes and oils which would foam in water, so that Erestor could place upon him a human's ‘beard'. These gentle pleasures had ceased decades ago when Erestor was still an elfling, but they still brought forth sweet smiles. Of course, since their oaths such innocent intimacy had been totally forbidden. By mutual consent neither visited the other in their personal chambers but met only in rooms where their privacy was not assured, thus removing temptation - which was why Erestor would now be waiting for him in their dining chamber. Patting his tunic pocket to ensure that he bore a special gift, Glorfindel exited the room.

On his arrival in the family dining hall Glorfindel was struck dumb once more by his darling's beauty. Erestor stood gazing out of the window, his face in profile. The arched brows, the piercing eyes, the high cheekbones and straight nose, all were strong features of his dark beauty. Erestor was dressed in his finest garb, a rich red waistcoat edged with silver braid worn over a crisp white shirt, and teamed with slim black leggings. The red of the tunic glowed in the sunlight streaming through the window and brought forth otherwise unseen highlights in the raven hair. Glorfindel's heart leapt to see him thus framed in Anor's glory.

"Blessings on your special day, pen-neth."

Erestor's head whipped round and he immediately broke into a blazing smile, crossing the room in four strides to throw himself into his beloved's open arms, pressing tight against that firm body. Glorfindel felt Erestor's head next to his heart for the youth was a full head shorter than him, and he desired nothing more than to hold him there forever. But he drew upon his strength of will and held Erestor away from him, his large hands upon the young elf's upper arms.

"So, do you feel one whole year older?" He joked. Erestor grimaced.

"Aye, I suppose I do – but I wish I were but one year older still." He glanced up, his brown eyes shining through dark sweeping eyelashes, tempting, teasing. "I know that then you would not hold me thus, would you, my lord?"

Glorfindel knew that look and also knew not to respond. Nevertheless a small smile broke through and a penitent Erestor laughed aloud.

"I know, I'm sorry!" he cried. Glorfindel again said nothing but patted his pocket instead.

"May I give you your begetting-day gift now, pen-neth?"

Erestor's eyes lit up and Glorfindel laughed in delight. No matter how old an elf became, presents were always welcome.

"I don't have to do a treasure hunt this year?" Erestor asked. The previous year Glorfindel's gift had been a beautiful black gelding, and Glorfindel had set clues about the house for Erestor to follow to the stables. A delighted ward had named the horse ‘Hirnîn' in honour of his guardian, the guardian of his love.

Glorfindel produced the soft silk pouch from his pocket, placing it in Erestor's hand. Curious, Erestor opened the pouch then gasped in delight. In his palm lay, hung upon a thick gold chain, an oval locket made of that most precious of metals, mithril. Emblazoned on the front was a flower wrought in gold, a celandine.

"It is beautiful!"

Glorfindel looked at him with eager eyes. "Open it," he urged. Erestor needed no prompting. Carefully releasing the clasp he opened the two halves to reveal a tiny portrait on each side, one each of Glorfindel and himself. Erestor lifted his head, mouth open in astonishment.

"I had them done at the same time as I commissioned our paintings for the main hall, pen-vuil. Do you like it?"

"Do I…?"

Glorfindel found himself enfolded in a fierce grip as Erestor expressed his delight in a physical manner. He allowed himself a moment, a vocal expression of his feelings – a statement which could sound innocuous. He pressed his lips to Erestor's black hair.

"I love you, my dearest ward," he murmured. The grip tightened briefly before Erestor released him to fasten the locket about his neck.

There was a knock at the door then it opened slightly, a head draped in raven hair peeking round the wood. A mischievous grin punctuated his question.

"Is this a private begetting day or can we join in the celebrations too?"

The lord and his ward laughed in merriment as Ecthelion entered followed by Tuor, Idril and their little son Eärendil. Erestor came forward quickly to take the elfling into his arms, for he had great affection for the young prince, and the child for him. Mirieth and Díwen joined them and Erestor was thus surrounded by those he loved most. The celebratory lunch was soon served and the servants released so that they could celebrate as a family, albeit an extended family. The presents came forth as the food was consumed, forming a large mound around Erestor. Tuor and Idril had given him a fine set of quills and ink; Mirieth gave him a new tunic of deep green, a colour he had only recently taken to wearing, and Díwen's gift was leggings to match. Erestor opened Ecthelion's gift, a mahogany box containing a pair of long elvish knives. Their handles were also wrought of the dark wood and were inlaid in silver. Erestor thanked Ecthelion profusely.

"Well, pen-neth, since you decided to concentrate on the knives your skill has improved – not that much, mind – but I hope that these will encourage you to apply yourself. I've given up on your wielding the sword or the bow to any great extent. The knives are very fine-edged and *very* well balanced. Use them with honour, mellon nîn."

The two dark elves bowed to one another in respect. All knew that Erestor leaned to a more scholarly life. Indeed, Turgon had become aware of Erestor's keen analytical mind and had invited the youth to sit in on many council meetings. It was a great honour to do so amongst the lords of the Great Houses and often afterwards Turgon questioned him on his opinions and understanding of the issues. Glorfindel could see the day when Erestor would become one of Turgon's advisors. Talk now within the chamber turned to events within those council halls. Mirieth and Díwen understood the delicate nature of some of the discussions and had shown their discretion in the past, so the talk was not stinted.

"Maeglin is gaining too much influence over the king, " moaned Ecthelion. "Sorry, princess, but it is true – and I trust him not."

Idril nodded in agreement, not at all offended. "Since my aunt's death my father has tried to compensate for his loss, but I fear that Maeglin knows only too well my father's weakness – his love of riches. That he would not listen to my dearest love and Ulmo's warning is proof of that." She squeezed her husband's hand and received a grateful smile in return.

Erestor, who was still cradling Eärendil, shook his head. "I fear that something is going to happen, and very soon. His trips to the jewel mines in the Encircling Mountains have been regular and frequent as we all know, but in the last few months especially I have noted a change in his demeanour. There is a tension, a secret that is either exciting or frightening him."

Glorfindel shook his head in bewilderment. "I have seen no such change in him pen-neth. He is still the manipulative little rat I have always known." Ecthelion laughed but Erestor remained serious.

"It is evident in the body movements, the way he holds himself. He knows something, something evil – and he gloats!" Idril shuddered and Tuor moved to comfort her.

"Aye," said the human. "His attentions to Idril have not lessened since our wedding or Eärendil's birth. He is untrustworthy. Our hidden passage is now finished in case some need arises."

All present were in agreement for Mirieth and Díwen had been entrusted with the knowledge of the tunnel only recently. They were in charge of any evacuation of the ellith and children of the House and had laid plans for such. Mirieth tried to lighten the discussion by turning the topic back to Erestor.

"What will you do for the rest of the day, Erestor? Have you any plans?" Erestor nodded enthusiastically.

"Aye, Glorfindel and I will ride on the plains to our favourite lake for a swim. I love riding Hirnîn." He paused, schooling his face into a picture of innocent speculation. "I wonder what it feels like to be ridden by one who loves you - to feel that weight press upon you in excitement and exhilaration. It must be very - fulfilling."

Eyes widened in alarm and Ecthelion sucked in a breath. Fortunately Mirieth and Díwen did not notice.

"Oh Erestor, I am sure Hirnîn loves you and is proud to be your mount," she smiled. She was so proud of her former charge and took as much pleasure in his achievements as in those of her own grown children. The awkward moment passed and the conversation took a more innocent bent and turned towards the imminent celebrations. Finishing the delicious repast, their guests took their leave in a flurry of hugs, embraces and, from Eärendil, sloppy kisses. After waving their farewells Glorfindel and his ward were left alone. Erestor knew what was to come as Glorfindel turned on him.

"Are you mad? What was that in aid of? For so long we have held our oath - I will not be forsworn when the end is in sight and I will not allow you to be either!"

"I am sorry!" came the desperate cry. Glorfindel was not mollified.

"Aye, so you said before!" He was shocked when Erestor in an astounding fit of frustration picked up a crystal glass and threw it against a wall where it fractured in a satisfying crash. Erestor sat heavily on a chair, tears welling in his eyes.

"I cannot help it! All day I have felt this way, aroused and strained, for this morning I woke from a dream so intense and real -" He stopped as Glorfindel gasped, and looked urgently at him, seeing that the golden lord knew of that of which he spoke. "You too?"

The elf lord nodded slowly. "I too. Ai, pen-neth, to what end has Irmo tormented us so?"

Erestor winced. "It was indeed a torment. Glorfindel, I am a virgin. How could I dream so vividly of that which I do not know, have not experienced, if Irmo had not placed the dream in my head?" He looked up shyly at his beautiful love. "Is it truly so - wonderful - to lie with someone? For though I dreamt of a little pain, I also felt as though I reached the stars, and I tumbled with joy and rapture back to the earth when you - filled me." He reddened slightly at the last, knowing that it was something of which they should not speak. Glorfindel nodded.

"When you are with the one you truly love, yes, I believe so. I have pleasured and have been pleasured by many, but with none have I experienced that sharing of souls. Yet, it is a delight beyond reckoning. Only with you will I reach true ecstasy, ind nîn."

Glorfindel was troubled by their shared experience. Was this dream a blessing or a warning? He could not decide, nor could he let this conversation continue. He stood abruptly, for he too had sat in shock.

"We should continue our day as planned, pen-neth, for we must return and be ready at sundown for the vigil."

 

****

 

And so they left, Glorfindel upon Asfaloth and Erestor upon Hirnîn, galloping freely across the Plains of Tumladen. As they left behind the city a sense of wild abandon overtook them and they yelped with delight as they raced over the flat ground. Erestor had for once only partially braided his hair and the raven strands flowed behind him, whipping around in the strong breeze. Glorfindel could feel the sense of liberation in his beloved and both understood it and felt it himself. Out here they were not observed. Out here they could be themselves. Out here – if they wished – they could speak openly. But they wouldn't. Oaths had been sworn.

They reached their favourite lake and spent the next few hours swimming, splashing, diving. They wore their loincloths throughout their sport. It was late afternoon when they returned to the city where they dressed themselves as befitting their House for the Festival. Strolling the streets as twilight fell Glorfindel walked beside Erestor, his arm draped across the youth's shoulders, Erestor's dark head leaning against his neck. Music played softly and the festive lights twinkled high in the trees. The stalls were bedecked with tempting wares, sweetmeats and fine wines yet there was none of the raucous calls that would assail the ears during daylight hours. Voices would not be heard until the chorus greeted the dawning light of summer. Glorfindel smiled at the thought of Ecthelion's beautiful voice raised in praise. The finest vocalist in Gondolin, the Lord of the House of the Fountain was always the first to call the city to song.

They made their way to the eastern wall, to the section reserved for the House of the Golden Flower, and settled on the seats there. It would be a long night but it was a vigil no-one begrudged in their spiritual silence. Further to their left Turgon and his household were seated under jewel-coloured canopies, and Idril, Tuor and Eärendil joined him in familial harmony. Time passed and the stars began to shine. Glorfindel sat, Erestor leaning against him, staring up at the gems of the sky. Suddenly a child's voice called out into the silence, long before it should have been broken.

"Look, Nana! The sun!"

All turned to face the east, bewildered as the sky there remained dark. Then mutterings began against all precepts of the vigil. Erestor stood, turning to face the north and he urged Glorfindel to rise too.

"Look!" he whispered, pointing north. There, above the Encircling Mountains, was a glow; a red glow which could have been that of the rising sun, but which was obviously not. The mutterings became louder and a palpable fear ran through the spectators. It increased as the glow passed over the mountains as if the sun came down the slopes to the city. A voice cried out, speaking that which they all feared to say.

"Melkor! Melkor comes!"

A strong shout came from the left of them, cutting through the incipient hysteria. Turgon, High King of the Noldor, stood proud upon the battlements.

"Warriors of Gondolin – to arms!"


	6. Chapter 6

The response was immediate. Without even bidding farewell to their loved ones the warriors of Gondolin leapt from the wall and ran through the city streets to their Houses to arm themselves against the coming invasion. The House of the Golden Flower was near to the eastern wall and it took but minutes for Glorfindel and Erestor to reach the building. As the elves poured themselves into the armoury the Lord and his young ward sped to the small side room in which their own armour was kept.

Glorfindel's armour was a dazzling sight; one that could halt an enemy in his tracks, for Glorfindel's golden splendour and magnificent physique was enhanced by the finely wrought design. Glorfindel unleashed could strike fear into the strongest hearts. Erestor had been through his training as a squire and now hurried to assist his lord in buckling on the many layers. First the heavy chain mail coat, then the cuirass and kirtle cut in the shape of overlapping leaves. Shoulder guards, shin guards, wrist bracers lashed tight against solid muscle. As Glorfindel buckled his great sword around his waist Erestor drew the heavy mantle forth to drape around the warrior's shoulders. The mantle was an heirloom and was so embroidered in threads of gold in the design of the house, the celandine, that it shone as bright as the morning sun. Erestor shuddered in awe to see his love so resplendent, so truly breathtaking. Erestor turned to arm himself, reaching for the shoulder brace that would hold his knives - his new knives - across his back. Glorfindel caught him on the arm, turning the young elf to face him.

"Erestor, I want you to go to Mirieth and Díwen and help organise the evacuation of the women and children. Take them to Idril's secret way."

Erestor stared at him with disbelieving eyes.

"Surely it will not come to that? Will we not repel them?" he whispered in horror. Glorfindel shook his head.

"I fear not, pen-neth. That glow told me that Melkor has brought his most evil of creations - balrogs and firedrakes as well as orcs and goblins. In what number I can only guess, but to cause a fiery heat and glow of such intensity the number must be great." He paused. "Gondolin will fall, I fear." His heart clenched at what he knew he must say next.

"Get the women and children out of Gondolin. For Melkor to have found the Hidden City after all these centuries and after all our precautions there must have been a traitor in our midst. I fear we know who it must be. Get our people to safety Erestor - and go with them."

The response was swift and expected. Erestor shook his head fiercely, tears of frustration and denial evident in his eyes.

"No." His voice was hoarse. "No, I will not go. I will not leave you. I will *never* leave you! You cannot make me!" At that the tears started to flow but Erestor was unconscious of them. He stood firm, his face set, his hands clenched at his sides as if determination alone would reverse Glorfindel's decision. Seeing his love so strong before him almost broke the golden lord's resolve. Instead he placed one large hand at the nape of Erestor's neck, a long thumb sweeping over the soft cheek to wipe away the tears.

"Oh my sweet one," he choked. He pulled his soul mate to him, his oath crumbling. Lips met, firm to soft, in their first kiss. There were no soft nips, no gentle presses, no sweet explorations. There was no time, no future for them. There was only now.

The rose-red lips parted eagerly, gave way in intimate surrender as Glorfindel dived into that honeyed mouth. Tongues dueled, teeth clashed and Erestor pressed tight against his love, trying to persuade him with his lips and body as he knew his speech could not. Though the solid armour divided him from the golden lord Erestor stroked and explored where he could, against the sinews of the neck, the firmness of the jaw until his fingers twisted in that golden hair. He felt the softness of the shimmering strands, so luxurious in their tribute to the sun.

Glorfindel in turn pulled his pen-vuin against him, feeling that lithe body so tender in his arms. His soul cried out in torment, sensing deep within his heart that he would not now know the pure delight of union with his little love. "Meleth nîn, ind nîn," he murmured against those lips as the kiss ended. "So now we are forsworn, yet I feel that the gods will look with compassion upon our sweet kiss."

Erestor moaned with the loss of his lover's lips. " Melin le, Glorfindel! Oh that this hateful metal was not between us. Oh that we had more time!" Glorfindel shook his head.

"We have broken our oath, Erestor. Would you have me dance on its shards? I may be an oath-breaker, but I would not be a law-breaker too. I would not take you in battle lust for in the eyes of our people you are yet too young for carnal love. If Melkor's hordes win  
this night then we must survive on our values, our worth as the Firstborn of Ilúvatar. I want our union to be full of joy and honour, to stand proud in the sun, not to have our love sordid and in shadow."

Erestor's head was now pressed against his breastplate and he stroked the raven strands, memorising their texture, inhaling the fresh scent. He took his sweet love's head between his strong hands and lifted it so that he met those brown orbs, so bright with tears.

"Meleth-nîn, I must go. I must go to fight. And you must go to Idril. Go, my heart, my soul. For I cannot fight unless I know you are safe. I have to know that you live else I will die, for my fear for you will pull my mind from my sword and to my destruction instead."

His voice was taut with pain and passion and Erestor could not be pacified. He clutched at Glorfindel refusing to release him. The cries from the streets were now penetrating the House and Glorfindel cast his mind about, seeking a way to persuade his beloved. His  
eyes settled on his un-gloved hands. He pulled quickly at the mithril ring and clasped Erestor's left hand, forcing the ring onto his first finger.

" 'Tis a symbol of my love, Erestor. It is my pledge to you. Our betrothal. I promise to return to you seron vell, and the next time I place this ring on your finger it will be on our binding day. I promise, Erestor. I promise. I *will* return."

Chocolate-brown met sapphire-blue and in that moment Erestor knew that his plea had failed. He nodded dumbly, knowing that he would follow the orders of his beloved lord.

"A promise," he whispered.

Glorfindel pulled his little love tight against him for one last kiss.

"Melin le, Erestor-nîn."

 

****

 

Before Erestor sought out the ellith he raced to the stables and released the horses. Asfaloth and Hirnîn whinnied in confusion and bolted only when Erestor swung his hand firmly against their flanks. The horses would have a better chance of survival if they were free. A very slim one, but at least a chance. It was the only thing he could do for them.

Back in the main hall of the house he found that Dîwen and Mirieth had gathered the women and children together and were trying to calm the hysterical ellith, for the elflings were feeding off their mothers' fear.

"Bring food and warm clothing - leave all else!" cried Mirieth, for the hundredth time. The women of the household in their panic did not heed her words. Erestor drew his knives and slammed their blades together, creating a ringing clang that penetrated the clamour. He shouted above the fading cries.

"Lord Glorfindel has spoken. Follow the instruction of Mirieth and Díwen and you *will* be safe. Now, we go to the House of Tuor and Idril. Hold tight to your children and firm to your courage." It was his other persona, the cool young counsellor to Turgon rather than the frightened youth, which had taken over and in his calm voice the denizens of the House heard the authority of their Lord, and they obeyed.

The streets were bathed in the red light that came from the fearsome flames of the balrogs and firedrakes that now surrounded the walls of the city. The heat was almost overwhelming, as evidenced by the bodies of collapsed elves that littered the streets. Erestor knew the streets well having explored them thoroughly as a child and made for all the back routes through the south-eastern quarter, away from the majority of the fleeing crowds, so their passage was reasonably swift. Theirs was not the only house to descend upon the princess' home and her guards were directing the elves down to the cellars where the passage began. Erestor approached a guard that he knew.

"Rion, where are Idril and Eärendil? Have they gone ahead?"

"Not yet," the guard replied. "The Lady's cousin has gone to their room to aid them, for the ernil's nursemaid was injured in the flight from the walls."

Erestor was horrified. "Maeglin is here? But he is the traitor! He is the one who betrayed us!" The claim was based only on his belief and not on proof but he knew in his heart that he spoke the truth. Without delay he raced into the house, seeking the elfling's chambers.

The room was abandoned, crib sheets strewn on the rug-covered floor, toys scattered forlornly. He cast his eyes about, checking one last time before leaving to search other nearby chambers. All were empty and Erestor was beginning to despair when he heard voices in fierce argument above him, male and female – then the piercing screams of a babe. Erestor searched frantically for the stairs to the roof, taking them two at a time.

The scene on the roof was heart stopping. Against the crimson sky caused by the monsters that swarmed the slopes of Amon Gwareth, Maeglin was framed holding a twisting, wriggling child who screamed for his mother. Idril was almost in hysterics reaching in vain for him, for her wrist was clamped firmly by Maeglin as he dragged the princess and her son towards the roof's edge. Endlessly she tried to reach her son and free herself from the madman's grip, succeeding in neither endeavour. Nails out and scratching, she seemed as if she was one of those legendary creatures of the south, a tigress protecting her cub.

Erestor shouted, trying to distract the nephew of the king. He drew forth his knives and made to approach the traitor. Maeglin sneered as he saw the young elf, armed as if to give battle, and laughed derisively.

"Why, if it isn't Glorfindel's little pet. Have you come to witness my triumph, little 'lonely one'? Don't say you were actually going to try to stop me?"

Erestor saw Idril increase her efforts and sought to aid her by lunging at Maeglin with his knives. The elder elf sidestepped him easily but his hold on Idril slipped, allowing her to free her hand. Erestor's joy was short-lived as in the blink of an eye Maeglin caught at her flying hair.

"Oh no, my precious, my darling. You are not leaving me! Just let me dispose of this mewling half-breed brat of yours, then we can flee together. The little catamite won't try to stop us, will he? He'll be too busy grieving for his little master. Oh, Glorfindel is going to die horribly, sweet little Erestor. He battles bravely over in the Market, but which one? Not the one Salgant has sent his reinforcements to – but then Salgant could never get things straight where the brassy lord was concerned, could he?"

The manic gloating was fervent, the fever echoed in the madman's eyes as his words echoed in Erestor's ears. Maeglin wanted Glorfindel dead. Maeglin wanted Eärendil dead. Maeglin wanted Tuor, and Turgon, and Erestor dead; he wanted all of Gondolin dead – except Idril, who he simply wanted.

A huge roar came from behind him and Erestor knew without turning that it was Tuor. At once Maeglin cast Idril from him, drawing a knife and plunging it towards Eärendil's small chest, desperate to kill the son of his rival - but the knife was somehow miraculously deflected. Maeglin screamed in disbelief and defiance, tormented by his failure. At that moment Erestor leapt, grabbing at the child and wrenching him from the traitor's grasp. Tuor wrested the knife from Maeglin and broke it easily in two before lifting the damned elf about the middle and, in one movement, throwing him over the battlements. Maeglin's body broke upon Amon Gwareth, bouncing three times before erupting into flames when it collided with the firedrakes below. Idril ran to a shaken Erestor, claiming and clasping her son to her bosom.

"How - how did the knife not kill him? " gasped Erestor. Idril drew back Eärendil's tunic at the neck to reveal a cunningly wrought mail shirt beneath. Tuor grabbed Erestor and pulled him to his feet, hugging him in gratitude.

"We must go now, my boy. Voronwë will take you all to the tunnel." Erestor shook his head fervidly.

"Maeglin has set a trap for Glorfindel! He said that reinforcements for my lord have been sent elsewhere by design - it is Salgant's men who have gone awry!"

Tuor knew that Erestor needed to go to them, to warn his beloved, to save him. "Salgant may be a coward but his men are not. Glorfindel took your troops to the north-eastern sector in the hope of cutting off Melkor's left flank. He'll be in the vicinity of the Great Market. Find Tawaron of the Harp - he will listen to you!"

Erestor thought back to what Maeglin had said. "The men of the Harp must be at the Lesser Market – for 'tis where their House is situated. That sniveling lord must be trying to save his own hide! I must go now. Will you be alright?" he asked in fear.

"I must return to the Square of the Folkwell. Turgon has kept Ecthelion and his House in reserve and I must go to their aid. Go in all haste, boy, go save him for Gondolin - and for yourself."

With that permission Erestor fled back down the stairs and through the house to the exit. There he was horrified to see many elves dead after a battle with their own kin. For they were of Maeglin's House, men of the Mole by their caps, and Tuor's men had had to fight their way through them to gain entrance and save Idril. Erestor did not delay, could not delay. Though no orcs had yet penetrated to this part of the city the buildings around him were on fire from the blazing arrows shot by the enemy over the walls. The residents of the burning houses were crowding the streets, trying to escape. The screams of those who were trapped pounded in his ears, terrified and terrifying to the young elf. Closing his senses to save his sanity, Erestor battled as a salmon does upstream to try to get to the Lesser Market.

 

****

 

The battalion of the Harp was not idle. Orcs had started to find their way through the streets in small numbers and the warriors were hard pressed to defend their position, to allow time for the civilians to escape. Erestor was stunned by the grotesque appearance of the creatures but rallied to find the captain of the guard. He was relieved to catch sight of him leading his troops. Glorfindel had told him of this elf's support at his rescue all those years ago and the warrior had ever been cordial to him.

"Captain!" he shouted as loud as he could over the roar of the flames and the screams of the crowds. "Captain, you have to help Glorfindel. You have to help the Golden Flower!"

Tawaron heard Erestor's call and searched through the smoke to find the youth. "Get back Erestor! Get away from here!" He tried to force the raven-haired elf from the square. Erestor resisted, knowing that he had to make Tawaron understand his urgency.

"No, no! Glorfindel is in the Great Market. Salgant sent you wrong, he wants my lord to die!"

Tawaron needed no convincing. As loyal as he was to his own lord, he knew of his master's hatred of Glorfindel and the measures he would take to gain his revenge. Tawaron and his men were loyal to Turgon and Gondolin above all, and he knew where his duty lay. Calling the rallying cry, he and his battalion sped from the Lesser Market, leaving a small number of men to complete the evacuation of the House of the Harp.

Erestor made to follow but at that moment a crumbling wall finally fell and his exit towards the northern quarter was cut off. The throngs around him were pressing hard now and the fires were consuming the air, causing Erestor and the other elves to gasp for the fresh air their lungs demanded. In a final thrust he threw himself clear of the crowd, desperate to make his way towards the fighting - and Glorfindel. His sense of direction was askew in the smoke-filled passages and street and only by the signs on the shops and streets did he decipher some of his route. He was just at the turn of a corner when a sound whistling past his ear made him duck.

In fright he brought up his blades, only to hear them clang as an object struck them, rebounding to his left. An arrow! He was under attack! Through the gloom of the smoke black, lurching figures emerged, creatures of such twisted and vile appearances that his bile rose in his throat. Orcs! Erestor realized with a lurch just how woefully inadequate his skills were in the art of warfare. All those lessons unlearned because he had not attended. All those reprimands for inattention he had received from his tutors. From Ecthelion. From his golden lord.

Valour is a quality much recorded in song, much praised, much lauded. But valour is useless when one is unlikely to survive the conflict. Erestor took its better part, and searched for a way to escape. A door nearby swung open, a deserted house in which he could possibly find refuge. He ran into the doorway, hearing the bellows from the ghastly creatures who had followed him in. Twisting, turning, dodging the objects thrown to stall him, his light feet carried him through the house to emerge - into a nightmare.

It was the Square of the King, and it was under siege. Erestor could see the colours of every House in the city, but no one in any great number. The Fountain fought alongside the Wing, the Tree by the House of the Heavenly Arch, by the side of the men of the  
Swallow. So few. So few remained. Erestor could not long stand in unhappy reflection for noises behind him told that his pursuers were upon him.

Turning swiftly Erestor raised his blades to defend himself and was instantly drenched in black, noisome blood as the knives cut deep into the first orc chasing him. The first orc he had ever killed. His first kill. Not yet of age, and he had killed. If he had time Erestor would have vomited anything, everything his stomach contained. But he had no time. He stood like a windmill, swirling his blades with what little skill he could recall, desperately trying to connect with his foes. He felt like a child batting away his mother in a childish tantrum, knowing that inevitably the smaller, weaker combatant would soon be overcome. Tears poured down his face, tears of fear and frustration and anger and shame. The shame came from knowing that if he had learned, if he had listened then perhaps he would be of more use, kill more orcs, save some of those elves who were dying around him in the blood and the sweat and the smoke and the horror. His mind was quickly becoming numb to the shrieks of the creatures; he was waiting for that final blow to fall yet it did not. He could not understand. Warriors - good, well-trained, battle-hardened warriors - were dying at his feet and yet he survived. It was incomprehensible.

Suddenly a great noise came from the eastern road and a surge of men came rushing into the square. Erestor could hardly believe his eyes. They were of his House. They were the men of the Golden Flower and of the Harp! The surge ended too swiftly and Erestor realized that less than a score had arrived out of what should have been hundreds. So many of his friends dead? And what of...? Oh, Gods please, please let him be amongst them. Please let him be safe! More orcs poured into the square behind the fleeing elves and the small troop of the Harp turned and fell upon them. Ah, they were truly warriors, not a mewling child like he! Still Erestor could not glimpse that precious golden head amongst the arrivals, and now reality crashed in on those few seconds of musings and time sped up.

Blades flashed - Eglamoth of the Heavenly Arch arrived - black blood, splashing - oh gods, a firedrake! - then Erestor's heart stopped.

Into the square came a true denizen of Hell, a Balrog of Morgoth. The flames of Angband in physical form. Brimstone, sulphur, a stench beyond the reasoning of all senses, the heat of its body a roaring pressure upon the air surrounding it, tearing away what little oxygen they had left to breath. Erestor's stomach had been threatening and could hold back no more. Staggering, falling, collapsing against a blood-drenched wall the youth gave into terror, heaving and retching until there was no more. He was forgotten and ignored by the foe as he stared in a stupor at the incarnation of the earth's fiery core, of the evil of the fallen Vala. He barely registered a figure squaring up to the monster - was it ...Tuor? Ai, no! Eglamoth was trying to aid him but the swinging arms of the beast were steadily driving him back towards the Fountain of the King. Erestor cried out to see him collapse under the onslaught. Suddenly a second figure arose and through the gore Erestor realise who it must be, for one elf only had adorned his armour with an extravagant excess of silver and diamonds. The Lord of the Fountain was injured though, his shield arm hanging useless at his side. This did not prevent the fearsome lord from delivering a blow that injured the Lord of the Balrogs, in turn having his own sword arm sliced. Erestor cried out in horror when the balrog's whip was raised, ready to strike the death blow, and wept as his brave friend ran forth, driving the spike of his helm into the creature's belly, wrapping his arms around the flame-filled foe, falling to their deaths in the depth of the fountain beside them.

"Ecthelion!"

" 'Thel!"

In desperate grief for the dark-haired lord Erestor did not recognise the voice that roared above the tumultuous hiss from the steaming edifice - but that other elf knew Erestor's voice. Yet he could not battle across the square to Erestor for at that moment the doors of the palace flew open and the High King of the Noldor and his household troops flew out to descend upon the enemy, slicing, hacking, hewing, grinding the orcs with their fearless fighting. Erestor, from his fallen position against the wall of the palace, watched as Tuor made his way across to his law-father, begging him to retreat to safety, to flee with his people. The King would not listen. This was his city, the city he had dreamed of long ago, the city he had built from the foundations. He would not leave. Instead he lay upon Tuor and the captains of his city the duty of leading their people to safety. No argument would sway the king and as the enemy advanced, so the command for the Long Retreat was given.

Erestor saw the warriors of Gondolin, all save the Household of Turgon, fight a retreat toward the Gar Anion, yet could summon no strength to join them. He was paralysed, he had no control over his body, so deadened it was with the horror of the day. There was a dread peace within him as he felt his will to survive slip further away. Suddenly strong hands pulled him erect, held him firm and a bellow was unleashed in his ear.

"You silly fool! What are you doing here? You were given your orders, why did you not obey them?"

He could not answer, his tongue was tied. The elation that had risen when he heard that voice was immediately deflated under Glorfindel's wrath, which seemed endless. At last he tried to explain, to protest his reasons but he was allowed no speech.

"I trusted you! You told me you would go! Disobedient brat! Now - move!"

Erestor had no choice. He was forcibly pulled along, his arm firmly in Glorfindel's strong grip, trying to lengthen his run as they sped from the Square of the King along Gar Anion to the Square of Weddings. There they met another who had rebelled against the edict of  
their lord.

"Idril!" Tuor grabbed his beautiful wife, fury and fear upon his face. "Where is Eärendil?"

"He is safe, gone ahead," she replied. She was about to continue when she suddenly screamed, her face ashen. Turning all saw and felt the devastating rumble that heralded the fall of the King's Tower behind them - and the fall of the King.

There was no time to weep. Erestor would only remember the frantic flight to the tunnel, the compressing heat and darkness as they ran down the escape route. Stumbling, falling, cracking skulls against rough hewn ceilings, colliding with each other in the last desperate dash for life. Erestor's hand ached as he tried to hold his two knives in one hand, for Glorfindel had not released the other once. The golden lord had not uttered a word of comfort, a syllable of love, a whisper of gratitude for their survival. His anger, his battle rage still burned at full heat and Erestor dared not attempt speech in case that wrath turn to him once more.

The tunnel had taken many years to make for its length reached to the foothills of the mountains. As they finally broke out they met the early morning sunrise - the sunrise of Tarnin Austa. They looked back as one towards the Hidden City, the fallen city, and wept to see the destruction of their home. The creatures of Melkor - orcs, balrogs, firedrakes - spilled over the broken walls and the smoke of many fires rose and spread over the Plains of Tumladen like a pall.

"Ecthelion killed the balrog! The Great One that killed him!" wept Erestor in grief for the smiling lord who had been as a brother to him. "More, I am sure I heard he killed more!"

Glorfindel pulled him close, his first gesture of comfort since their reunion.

"Ai, say not that it killed him but that his bravery took Morgoth's son to the depths of Hell. Songs will be sung forever for our dear friend. He is safe in Námo's arms now, pen-neth."

Erestor lifted his head and pressed his lips to his love's. "I thank all the Valar that you did not face one of those monsters."

Glorfindel winced. "Ai meleth, I took down two and I have the burns to prove it!" He waved away Erestor's concern. "Nay, pen-vuin, we must go for even now Melkor's orcs are crossing the plains, seeking to destroy us utterly. Come, we must climb the Cirith Thoronath and face the cold of the Cristhorn pass."

The trail was arduous, for the women and children could move only slowly, yet progress was made into the mountains. Glorfindel asked Erestor to climb ahead and try to ensure that the families of their House were safe.

"They need to know that their Lords are protecting them. They trust you, sweet one. I will stay here with Tuor and the men to guard the rear."

Erestor clutched the large hand. "You will be careful, hir-nîn?" He asked fearfully. Glorfindel did not laugh at his fears but took his darling Erestor into his arms, kissing him breathless. As they broke from the kiss he reminded his beautiful love of his promise.

"I will always return to you, meleth-nîn. Always."

With that Erestor left to climb the trail, slipping on the snow which was always upon these heights. It took some time to locate the refugees of the Golden Flower, and the relief amongst them to see their young lord was obvious, more so when they heard that Glorfindel yet lived. Mirieth immediately pulled her surrogate son into her arms, crushing him to her breast. She had held onto her courage, yet could not resist asking Erestor about the fate of her own sons. Erestor could offer her little comfort.

"I did not see them - but that does not mean they are not safe. There was total confusion within the city and the Houses joined as one before we fled."

Mirieth had to be satisfied with such a faint hope. Díwen was there too and hugged Erestor tightly.

"Oh gwador, the Valar have forsaken us just as we forsook them!"

There was no response that would be adequate, for she spoke what was in the minds of all.

A roar from behind then made them turn, cold fear freezing them faster than the snows of the pass. A huge swell of orcs had seen them and was racing up the trail - and with them a flaming balrog. Amidst the screams Erestor made to draw his knives to run, to help the defenders but the ellith clung tight and would not release him.

"No, no! We must run too, ion nîn!" Mirieth cried, pulling Erestor off balance. The rush of refugees storming up the slopes filled the trail and Erestor had difficulty finding his footing, to pull himself upright. The screams had increased and were swollen with the echoes off the heights, and there was nothing else reaching his ears as he desperately tried to force his way through the hysterical masses scrabbling up the narrow path. He caught glimpses of Tuor, of Idril and he hoped that Eärendil was safe with them. He could see the colours of his House in the elves heroically protecting the trail but yet no sign of golden hair or golden mantle. Mirieth still tugged at him, trying to make him turn when they both stopped in alarm. A single figure stood in front of the balrog, sword drawn and ready to do battle.

"No! What is he doing?"

The crowds were pushed aside as Erestor slid and slipped down the rock-strewn path on his way back down the cliff. The path was treacherous here yet Erestor did not slow, his eyes fixed on the lone elf in fierce combat with this fiery nemesis. Each swing of the broad sword forced the balrog back, each cut leaching its flame, its strength. The warrior at his mightiest stood supreme and he would not be denied.

Every thought, every word, every touch, every smile, every kiss scorched through Erestor's mind. He was heedless of the elleth behind him, he was only aware of the ellon before him. The tips of the golden hair ended in flames where they had touched off the balrog's heat. The stench of burnt flesh rose to assail the senses from where the creature's cruel whip had melted the hammered steel onto the hard muscles. Scorch marks on hands and arms stood out on white skin. The pain must have been horrendous but the battle went on. Then - one final thrust. The balrog staggered near the edge and its bulk toppled, falling towards the chasm.

Erestor shouted his love's name triumphantly. The golden head turned, spying him on the slopes. His sapphire eyes were alight with elation and a hand began to rise in acknowledgement, not noticing a movement behind him. A claw made a final grasp, snatching on golden strands and two fell off the cliffs. The elf stretched out his hand to his love in supplication, then was gone.

An elf died.

And the heart left behind shattered.

Erestor could hear someone screaming - but then, there were so many screams. His throat hurt, was raw – but he could not reason why. He was frozen in a moment, a single moment. Day, night, heat, cold. Erestor could have defined none of them - in that moment. The hand shaking him was not really there. He was not really there. Arda had stopped turning and the world had disappeared.

Who was shouting at him? How could they disturb him now? Didn't they know that Glorfindel was gone? Didn't they know he had to follow? Glorfindel needed him. Glorfindel loved him. Only when hands clasped his face and turned his head did his eyes focus, his deafness clear. Mirieth? Why was Mirieth shouting? What was she saying?

"... don't let it be in vain, Erestor! We must go now. He died to save Idril and Tuor and Eärendil. He died to buy us time. He died for you and me, Erestor! We must go, for he died for you!"

He died for me. He fell and he died for me. For Erestor. He died because of me. He died because I shouted. Because I wouldn't leave him. He is dead.

he is dead  
because I let him  
because I distracted him because I loved him

He is Dead.

The heart was already shattered; the soul was torn in two.  
And as Erestor stared at the cliff edge

his mind broke  
and Darkness fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:  
> pen-neth - little one  
> pen-vuin - dear one  
> nîn meleth - my love  
> nîn ind - my heart  
> Melin le - I love you  
> meleth-nîn - my love  
> seron vell - dear lover  
> ernil -prince  
> gwador - sworn brother  
> ion nîn - my son


	7. Chapter 7

T.A 149, Mid-winter

The sun shone brightly on the day Glorfindel first saw Imladris. The snow yet covered the ground, it being only weeks since the Yule celebration, but the slim green leaves of the snowdrop peeked through the white clothing of the earth to welcome of the lengthening days. The flora had been scarce on the Great East Road but now on the descent into the hidden valley of the elves the profusion increased. Glorfindel could tell that this was a magical place, the invisible wards tingled on his skin and impinged on his elven senses, which were much increased since his re-birth in the Blessed Realm. The Valar had been generous in their gifts on his release from the cool Halls of Waiting.

The golden elf shuddered in remembrance of those halls and his long sojourn there, a motion that was evident to the elves who had accompanied him from the Grey Havens. The escort had been at the insistence of Círdan for, as he had reminded him, a whole age encompassing thousands of years had passed since last he had walked on Arda. Times had changed, wars had been fought and won and lost, men had built and destroyed and had rebuilt their empires - and evil had found new forms.

Glorfindel thought back upon the instruction he had been given both in Valinor and at Círdan's behest, lessons in the history which had passed him by. Melkor had been banished from Middle Earth after the War of Wrath, imprisoned in dimensions beyond the bounds of Arda. The tiny ernil he had known in Gondolin had grown up in exile at the Mouths of the Sirion, had wed and had sired twin sons; then had led a plea to the Valar for their aid against their evil contemporary. The child was now a star in the heavens, shining his beatific light upon those he had saved by his sacrifice. An alliance of the Valar, and of the elves of Valinor and of Middle Earth in union with the kings of Men, had fought and brought down the vile walls of Angband. Sadly, one of Melkor's lieutenants had escaped from that war to revive his master's evil intents. Sauron, Annetar the Deceiver, had persuaded the elves of Eregion to make rings, magical and powerful, and had then stolen the rings to give to and corrupt the races of Dwarves and Men. Elves had made rings for themselves, but Celebrimbor the smith had allowed Sauron no part in their making and thus they were untouched by his machinations - and were not influenced by the One Ring, the controlling ring Sauron had forged in the fires of Mount Orodruin.

Eregion was built - and destroyed. Man's realm of Númenor was built -and destroyed. A second Alliance of elves and men had defeated Sauron at the gates of his land of Mordor - but not destroyed. Men had failed, as they had failed in Númenor, to rid Arda of the One Ring, Sauron's power on Middle Earth and the repository of his spirit. And another elven-king had fallen in battle. Now Glorfindel had been called forth from his contemplation in Námo's Halls, had been given a chance to return to Middle Earth so that he could aid the son of the son of the daughter of his King - Elrond of Imladris.

And find Erestor.

That had been part of the bargain that he had struck with Manwë, which he had forced from the Lord of the Valar before he would agree to the tasks set upon him. Varda had aided his plea, understanding the need for the golden lord to seek his lost love. Erestor did not reside in Mandos, for surely his soul would have sought Glorfindel out. Nay, it was his death that had separated him from his love; therefore his love must still live. Vairë, the weaver of life's threads, had given him warning.

"Not all that is sought may be found and if found, may not wish a return to that which once was. Have care, Glorfindel. Have care for your heart and your soul - and your mind."

But Glorfindel knew that Erestor was his heart and his soul and his mind. He would seek him, he would find him, he would woo him and bind him with his love. He would tell Elrond of his search. He would not ask permission for that implied the possibility of refusal and Glorfindel would brook no refusal.

The House of Elrond, dubbed the Last Homely House by many, now lay before him across the narrow stone bridge that spanned the ravine of the River Bruinen. The buildings awaiting him showed great sensitivity in their construction, combining graceful arches and winding walkways of wood and stone with the natural features of their surroundings. Over the bridge now and the horses descended into the courtyard of the main house. The yard was full and Glorfindel winced. He knew that his return was no secret, and that it was generally regarded as a miracle in that he was the only reborn elf ever to return from the Blessed Realm to the lands of Middle Earth. Although Glorfindel was not a shy elf he had no desire to be fawned upon or fêted. He had already experienced the overwhelming awe evinced by the younger elves of the Havens when his ship had landed and he had cringed when he had been told of the number of songs that extolled his sacrifice. He had hoped for something different here, in his new home.

The escort was dismounting and Glorfindel did the same, turning to face the elf who stood regal in rich velvets before him. He was unmistakable. Those grey eyes had belonged to Turgon and he had Tuor's strength and Idril's pride. This was his host. This was Elrond Peredhel. Glorfindel bowed, hand on heart. He hoped that *that* custom had not changed since his death.

"My Lord Glorfindel, we are blessed by your presence here amongst us." The voice was deep, calm and soothing. It was said that this Elrond was a healer as well as a lord and a warrior and Glorfindel could tell that the ellon would inspire trust and confidence in all who looked to him. Glorfindel grinned and he greeted the elf.

"Since you are to be *my* lord then I thank you for your kind greeting, Lord Elrond. I have been told much of your hospitality and I can see that it is all true."

He spread his hands to include the welcoming crowd and the beautiful house beyond. Elrond nodded his appreciation, a quirk in his smile denoting a well-developed sense of humour. He drew forth an elleth of astounding beauty, of silver hair and sweet smile, who was flanked by two elflings of identical features, dark grey eyes and dark hair alike.

"May I introduce my wife, Celebrían, and our twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir." The lady bent her head in gracious acknowledgement and Glorfindel could only stare in admiration at the elegance and refinement therein. His bow made, he turned to the young princes.

"My, if it were not for the fact that there are two of you, and that you are older than when I last saw him, I could swear that you are young Eärendil!" The boys squealed in delight.

"Did you really know our grandfather before he was a star?"

"Did you really fight a balrog?"

The questions came together in a rush and the golden lord laughed along with his hosts.

"Yes to both questions, my lords!"

"Now boys, you will have more time to speak with Lord Glorfindel later. He has just arrived and will want rest and refreshment first," soothed the Lady of Imladris, asserting her gentle authority over her sons.

"Aye. And if you will, my friend, I will keep the introductions short. There are many who live here but you will get to know them over time. First and foremost is my former Master of Horse and now my Chief Counsellor. It is he who truly runs Imladris - if I can but see him." Elrond searched the many faces surrounding them, obviously annoyed that such a prominent elf was not at the front of the reception party. Suddenly within the portico of the house Elrond spotted a movement in the shadows and his demeanour lightened.

"Ah, there you are, meldir. Glorfindel, this is my former tutor and most excellent friend, Master Erestor of Lindon."

So easily? So easily he had found him? His beautiful, sweet little love resided here, in the house of Elrond? Glorfindel's heart seemed to double it's pace, fluttering frantically, and his throat clenched in unbidden tears of relief and gratitude for the mercy of the Valar. His hand began to rise in greeting to the other half of his soul.

The elf in the shadows stepped forward, seemingly bringing the darkness with him. The waist-length raven hair was pulled back from his face in severely elaborate braids befitting an elf of such rank. High-neck, full-length robes in lush velvet covered his slim frame in a midnight hue that was only relieved by the thinnest edging of grey, and the voluminous sleeves hid his folded hands. The creamy skin of his face seemed ghost-white in comparison to the blackness surrounding it, and those rose-red lips held no smile. The figure - taut, austere - bowed in reserved greeting and when it rose again Glorfindel sought eagerly to meet those well-remembered chocolate-brown eyes, desperate to recognise within this restrained creature some sign of his open, emotional, passionate meleth.

The eyes are supposed to be windows to the soul. This soul spoke of great wisdom, of antiquity, of history. This soul spoke of pain. Then, as if realising that the reborn lord was reading him, a veil was drawn, and the eyes were blank - and black with repression.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Lord Glorfindel."

The voice was soft but flat, unemotional in texture, cool in content. Yet it was truly Erestor. The elf spoke again.

"Rooms have been prepared for you. My assistant, Saelbeth, will escort you to them. If you have any other requirements please direct them to him."

Another bow and the black elf glided away into the shadows again.

The words had been softly spoken, calculated in their content, measured in their tone. It was a speech which had been well-rehearsed, and it gave notice that this elf was not to be approached. Glorfindel could not speak, could not articulate a word in the face of such rejection. Though he had not been rejected. Simply - dismissed.

"Erestor." A whisper, a plea that went unrecognised by the intended recipient and registered only as a comment by his new lord.

"Aye, that is Erestor. A fascinating elf of great knowledge, wisdom and courage. One of the unsung heroes of elvendom, he has ever been a presence in my life. Do not be offended by his reserved manner, my lord. It is but his way with all those he does not truly know. I hope you will become good friends. And now," he turned back to the awaiting elves once more, gesturing to a white-haired ellon, "here is Master Lindir, a bard and musician beyond compare."

Glorfindel allowed himself to be turned back to the waiting throng, making his bow, a smile plastered on his face. His mind was elsewhere, with an elf in black, conjuring in his mind conversations and explanations for the frigid greeting.

Erestor was shy. He had been shy as a child, was ever so with those beyond his manufactured family unit. His public persona was cool and collected, a façade drawn to cope with external necessities. Aye, Erestor loved to be tactile when alone, detached in company. If this was the way he must act in the presence of his subordinates then of course he could not release his control in public just for his lover, could he? And how much more difficult it must be for his pen-neth to see his dead love return, to see again the one who had died on Cirith Thoronath; the elf who had been burnt and battered beyond recognition and now was hale and hearty? He must be waiting for a private moment, a true reunion. It would be wildly passionate and truly poignant; of lips and hands, of hröa and fëa, in a dance of desire as old as time. Glorfindel cheered at this conclusion and was able to face the crowds of elves yet to greet him with greater equanimity.

Time passed slowly as Glorfindel was shown around his new home. His chambers were more than adequate a suite of four rooms including a bathing chamber. The bedroom overlooked a spectacular cascade which tumbled into the gorge below, a fine mist rising to create sparkling rainbows of reflected sunlight. The scene would only be matched in magnificence the first time he laid his beautiful Erestor upon the huge four-poster bed within.

He waited in impatient anticipation, sure that his little love would come to greet him here in private, for the reunion he had dreamed of for a thousand years. He paced the room as he counted the minutes. To have him, to hold him once more…

He waited in vain.

****

 

It was Saelbeth who arrived to guide a disappointed Glorfindel to the main dining hall. It was large enough to contain the majority of the inhabitants of Imladris for dinner, apparently a tradition that Elrond preferred for the lord treated his subjects as a family. Thus the main meal of the day was taken en masse, with a smaller hall used for breakfast and lunch. The residents also had the choice of dining in their chambers provided that notice had been given to Master Erestor in advance.

"And Master Erestor? Does he dine here too?" Glorfindel asked in hope. Saelbeth shook his head.

"Not normally, for his working hours are long and he prefers a tray either in his office or his rooms, which are on the same corridor as yours. However for special occasions such as this he will attend and is seated, as you are, at the Lord's table."

Indeed Erestor did appear at the table which was on a raised dais at one end of the hall, as Turgon's had been. The table was elegantly appointed. Elrond's chair was large but yet could not be called a throne, but still it was elaborately carved in the manner of all elvish furniture. At his side was an equally beautiful seat, this time a canopied chair in which the Lady Celebrían presided in beauty and in grace. To Glorfindel's dismay, the dark advisor chose a place at the farthest end of the table, whereas Glorfindel as guest of honour had been seated next to Elrond. From the raised eyebrow of the lord (a truly intimidating gesture, Glorfindel noted) and the reaction of a few other elves at the table, this was not the normal state of affairs and Glorfindel began to wonder if his assessment of the situation had been correct. However he realised that had they been seated opposite one another they would not have been able to restrain themselves, so perhaps Erestor had thought of that. Glorfindel knew *he* was hard pressed not to think of the physical joy of their reunion.

The food was good, the company excellent. Still, Glorfindel had to concentrate so that he could carry on an intelligent conversation with his new lord. Elrond was truly knowledgeable on a wide variety of subjects. Thankfully he kept away from the subject of Gondolin, concentrating instead on outlining the convoluted elven domains of Middle Earth and their rulers. Thus Glorfindel learned more of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien, the parents of the Lady Celebrían. He had known of them as Celeborn of Doriath, cousin of Elu Thingol, and Galadriel, or Alatariel as she had been named in Valinor. There was also Thranduil son of Oropher, King of the Greenwood and the Silvan elves therein; Círdan of the Havens, who had received him back into Middle Earth; and Gildor Inglorion of the Wandering Company, a descendant of the royal houses who had his own realm at Edhellond.

Once the meal was concluded they moved to the Hall of Fire, an imposing hall of reflection and solitude in daylight or, like tonight, a place of tales and songs. The fire was a great conflagration in a hearth at one end of the hall; its burning logs and coals were never allowed to dwindle to ash but were fed continuously as a signal of the continuance of the Firstborn of Arda, and as a symbol of hope for all.

Erestor did not join them.

The entertainment included sagas and songs of the past Ages, though thankfully none about Gondolin. Glorfindel realised that he owed his gratitude to Elrond. He was very appreciative of the tact shown by the lord and he knew that this would be a relationship he would enjoy and, hopefully, a friendship he could cherish. It was for that reason that Glorfindel did not rise, did not leave to search for the raven-haired elf, for to spurn such pleasures which had be arranged for him would have been churlish. Glorfindel was ever an elf of good manners, though they were sorely stretched this night.

Elrond's young sons were being allowed to stay up late as a treat and with his great affinity for children he soon found that they had adopted him as an Uncle. They thus did what most children did in such circumstances - they had climbed upon him and had claimed his knees as seats. From their innocent chatter he learned more of his love's life in Imladris.

"Uncle Erestor can only hold us one at a time because his knees aren't so big," said one twin. Glorfindel hadn't sorted them out yet.

"Yes," said the other, "but he likes ‘Ro best – he says I wriggle too much." Ah, then this must be Elladan. Glorfindel thought it time for a little probing.

"So Master Erestor likes elflings, does he?" he asked gently. Elrohir nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh, he likes lots of elves, but he pretends he doesn't."

"Yes, he has to be bossy so he has to pretend that he is cross so that they obey him."

"He is very shy really."

"And sad."

Glorfindel quirked an eyebrow, dismayed that Erestor was seen as such a reserved and pained elf. "Sad? Why sad?" What answer he expected he didn't know.

Elladan's face dropped a little. "He won't tell us. Ada says he doesn't know either." The little face lifted, grey eyes pondering blue. "Ada says that he may have lost someone he loved in the big war. The one when the Valar came to help all the Eldar and the Edain and the Naugrim."

Glorfindel looked around the hall, hoping that Erestor had returned. The ellon was nowhere to be seen. "Does he not like music then? I do not see him."

Elrohir frowned. "He is probably working. He is *always* working." This was obviously not to the twins' taste.

In an innocent-sounding voice, Glorfindel asked, "And where does he work?" Both boys pointed.

"In his office."

"In the library."

"Which is next to his office."

"And Ada's office."

It took some time but within the hour Glorfindel had returned the now sleepy twins to their mother, pleaded weariness to Lord Elrond and had left the Hall of Fire.

 

*****

 

The Last Homely House was not large, at least in comparison to Turgon's palace, but it still took a while to get his bearings. With discreet inquiries he was soon traversing the corridors of the house. Most elves were still in the Hall of Fire for his welcoming reception. But he didn't want most elves, just one.

The library, as expected, was deserted. Glorfindel strolled through the immense space, overshadowed by rack upon rack of books, tomes, maps and scrolls, all in perfect order upon the shelves. The only illumination came from Ithil's glow shining through the high windows and the flickering candlelight through an open door at the end of the room. Like all elves Glorfindel was light of foot and his soft tread made no sound even to elven ears. He peered through the open entrance and smiled at the sight within. Standing facing away from him, head slightly raised to ponder some book on a shelf, was Erestor. His hair was still in braids yet it flowed beautifully down his straight back, curving to frame the slight swell of his buttocks. The outer robe of velvet had been discarded and the long under-robe clung to the slim frame. Glorfindel stole up behind him, capturing the dark elf in a firm embrace.

The golden lord felt the ellon tense at his touch and he stroked the upper chest to find a nipple to tease, whilst the other hand slid lower down Erestor's torso to cup his groin - a touch which had been forbidden when he had last held this sweet creature. Glorfindel let his lips explore a pointed ear, licking, kissing, sucking the tip, feeling his love melt against him. His hands stroked in their exploration of this longed-for body and he felt both Erestor's burgeoning arousal and quickening heart rate. This moment was the perfect moment. This feeling was so right. Within his arms he held his perfect, darling Erestor and they were one.

"Oh my little love, my sweet darling, I have so longed to hold you thus. I need you pen-vuin. I love you. Be mine tonight and forever. I will never leave you again, Erestor- nîn."

He pressed his need against Erestor, leaving him in no doubt of the truth of the statement. This moment was theirs. They would be united tonight, body to body, soul to soul.

The elf stiffened in his arms and in one swift movement twisted, turned, and broke free of the embrace. Face flushed and breathing heavily, the elf composed himself swiftly, stepping away from the warrior.

"You are mistaken, Lord Glorfindel. I have no desire to accommodate your needs. I suggest you try another ellon. There are many, I am sure, who would oblige one of your - stature."

Though the voice was shaky the tone was cool and the words calculated to cut through any illusions Glorfindel may have had. Erestor was rejecting him. A stunned Glorfindel approached his love, extending his hand to him.

"Meleth nîn? What are you doing? Why do you act this way? I am come back to you, Erestor."

The black figure took another step away. His voice was gentle, soothing – remote.

"We have a meeting with Lord Elrond early in the morning, hir nîn, to establish your role here in Imladris. I suggest that a good night's sleep will clear your mind and settle your – troubles."

Nothing made sense. Here was Erestor standing before him as he had dreamed of since his death and subsequent re-birth, but instead of being tight within his arms his pen-neth was a dozen steps away, talking about meetings and sleep. The golden lord stood, confused and aroused, wondering what nightmare he had fallen into.

"Meleth, don't you know me? Don't you remember? Our love? Our life in Gondolin? Our pledge, our promise –" Glorfindel stopped, staring down at Erestor's hands. They were bare. It was gone. A sudden tremor ran through him, a dread fear. " Where is it, Erestor? Where is our ring?" Erestor shook his head. Glorfindel felt panic arise in his throat. Surely it must have been lost, stolen. Erestor would not remove it willingly – would he?

"I know not of what you speak, hir nîn. I know of no ring. You are mistaken."

Glorfindel shook his head, not wanting to believe this was happening. "Why do you say these things? Don't you know who you are? Did you forget? Were you hurt, and your memory gone?" He saw Erestor start at these words and pressed on. "Is that it, Erestor? You don't remember?"

The counsellor seemed to rally, to gather his wits and his words. The gentle voice was firm.

"I know not of what you speak, Lord Glorfindel. I am Erestor of Lindon. My life began in Lindon. I cannot be the one you believe me to be. I cannot be the one you want me to be. I am sorry, but I am not – your love."

The rejection was total, laid before him. There was no sign in this composed creature of the young Erestor he had fallen in love with. The counsellor moved, turned to pick up one of the candles on the desk and without another word glided towards the door. Glorfindel had to try just one more time to reach *his* Erestor and the love he knew was there.

"I came back for you, Erestor! I died for you. I died to save you, ind nîn. Don't you hear me? Don't you know me? Don't you love me - anymore?"

The black figure stopped, tensed and Glorfindel thought he had succeeded. Without turning the counsellor spoke, his voice tight, hollow, tinged with pain.

"I am Erestor of Lindon. You did not die for me. No one died for me. *No* one."

Then he was gone.

****

 

The nightmares started that night. Doors opened and closed, screams rang out, voices were raised in concern in the family wing wherein Glorfindel's chambers were situated. A worried lord and lady brought herbs and potions to calm the hysterical warrior, to ease his dreams of balrogs and battles and burning flesh.

Within a dimly lit chamber not so very far away a still figure huddled in a shadowed corner of the room. It was swathed in black, long silken robes draped over it's form, midnight hair falling as a veil over a blank face. It looked for all the world like a bundle of black rags.

One hand was clenched around a mithril locket which was suspended on a thick gold chain. The other was folded gently over a small mithril ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:  
> (with thanks to Nienna and Andrannath)  
> ernil - prince  
> meldir - my friend  
> meleth – love  
> pen-neth – little one  
> Ada – Daddy  
> Eldar – elves (as a race)  
> Edain – men (as a race)  
> Naugrim - dwarves (as a race)  
> pen-vuin - dear one  
> Erestor- nîn - my Erestor  
> ellon - male elf (sing.)  
> elleth – female elf (sing.)  
> hir nîn – my lord  
> ind nîn – my heart


	8. Chapter 8

T.A. 149, Mid-winter

It was a red-eyed, weary Glorfindel who emerged from his chambers that bright winter morning. For one so recently re-born, he looked as though he would soon return to Námo's Halls. He was well-dressed for he would not shame himself or his new lord by neglecting his appearance just because of a nightmare. But what a nightmare. And what of the event that triggered it? Certainly that terrible confrontation in Erestor's office must have been the cause, for in all his time since his rebirth no such dreams had ever occurred. Indeed, Glorfindel could hardly decide which had been the worst – seeing the balrog advance in his nightmare or Erestor retreat in reality. No, there was no doubt. Losing Erestor was worse.

For so long had Glorfindel yearned for that sweet reunion. For so many millennia had he dreamed, planned, plotted, envisioned the pressing of lips and devouring of bodies. In those dreams they would now be ensconced in Glorfindel's bed and Erestor would be enfolded in Glorfindel's arms, sated and sleeping. Instead the delightful bedchamber had become a haunted room overnight, and the ghost of their love prowled there still. Glorfindel straightened his shoulders resolutely. He had to face Erestor again and determine why the raven-haired elf was in denial of their love, even of his life in Gondolin. What had become of the young elf, what had he faced in the intervening years that had provoked this extreme reaction? Did he resent him for dying, for leaving him alone? How had he survived? Did he not travel with Idril, with Tuor, or Mirieth? He had been well loved by them all; surely they would not have deserted his little one?

His route to Erestor's office was direct, and he marched in without knocking. He was not willing to face being barred from Erestor's presence. He was thwarted in his device for its inhabitant was not Erestor but Saelbeth, his assistant, who was laying papers on the desk in preparation for his master's perusal. He looked up, surprised.

"Lord Glorfindel! How may I help you?"

Glorfindel nodded his head in greeting. " I - I was looking for Erestor. He did not dine this morning," he stumbled over his words. "I thought that he may be - ill," he trailed off feebly. Saelbeth stared at him skeptically but made no comment on the poor explanation.

"Master Erestor breaks his fast before the sun rises, my lord. He has just finished the accounts and is now meeting with Lord Elrond." He gestured to one of two doors in the west wall, opposite the one from the library through which Glorfindel had entered the previous night. "I believe they are expecting you for your first daily report?" he ended gently.

Glorfindel nodded numbly. He had forgotten the meeting that had been mentioned during that ill-fated discussion of the night before. Now he had to face Erestor, not alone as he had wished, but in the presence of the Lord of Imladris. Steeling himself, Glorfindel followed Saelbeth through the indicated door. He was a proud elf, and would not reveal his grief to this descendant of kings.

Elrond was seated at his desk in his office, a spacious room which was obviously a place of work. Yet there was plenty of adornment in the chamber to personalize it as Elrond's. Its walls were covered in ceremonial knives, ancient paintings and a silken banner which had obviously seen the blood-drenched face of a battlefield. The ornaments bore testimony to the occupant's valiant past as Herald to the late King of Lindon, the High-King Ereinion Gil-galad.

The two elves within stood to greet him. Elrond rose from behind his desk, a welcoming smile upon his face. Erestor hesitantly met his gaze and Glorfindel suppressed an exclamation when he caught a glimpse of the depth of the sadness in those chocolate-brown orbs. It was but a moment, but a moment when a recognition of the pain he had caused the golden lord flashed through Erestor's expressive eyes. Then the eyes lowered and the counsellor resumed his seat. Glorfindel took the empty one beside Erestor, moving his chair slightly closer to the dark elf, ignoring the nervous look he shot him.

"Lord Elrond, I must thank you once again for the care that you and your wife bestowed upon myself last night, and I must apologise for the disturbance I caused," he said quietly. Elrond hurried to reassure him.

"We only wish for you to make a comfortable home here, without fear or worry. You are a member of our community and, I hope, will regard yourself as one of my own family. For indeed, you paid the ultimate price to save my father and grandparents. I would be remiss in the extreme if I could not repay even a small amount of that debt with my skill as a healer." Elrond's words rang with great sincerity and feeling, and Glorfindel inclined his head in acknowledgement.

The conversation turned to his return and the intentions of the Valar in sending him forth in his renewed body.

"Times are darkening, my lord," said Glorfindel. "During my stay in the Havens and prior to that in Valinor, I was instructed in events which have occurred in the time since I - died." The slight twinge in Erestor's bearing at those words was barely noticeable, and the golden lord registered it wonderingly, hoping that it meant that his pen-vuin was not totally cut off from him. Glorfindel chose to leave it for the present, and continued. "The Darkness *will* arise again and so I was told that I would play a part. In preparation for that event I have been sent to offer you my services, that I may become better acquainted with the world as it is now and aid in its defenses against the Dark Lord."

"And do you know what part you have to play?" the dark counsellor asked softly. Glorfindel turned to look at him, but the mask was firmly in place.

"I do not know," he responded gently, "save that the deed will be perilous and fraught with danger."

The mask slipped and Erestor's eyes widened in alarm and his lips parted as if to give a cry - yet no noise escaped. Quickly the counsellor lowered his face, murmuring "I hope not too perilous, my lord. It would be too cruel to have you face Mandos a second time."

"I thank you for your concern, Master Erestor. But there are many things in life's journey which can be more painful to a soul than simple death. The loss of a love, for instance. I have faced death once, I can do so again with peace in my heart - if in doing so I have saved the one - the ones - I have loved," he ended. Glorfindel's meaning was plain and he saw the reaction in the dark elf, a brief closure of eyes in pain at the thought of the death of an elf.....

Elrond was confused at the drama being played before him. There was an obvious tension between his counsellor and his new seneschal but considering they had met for the first time only a day before he did not understand the scenario. He knew his old friend better than any other, and he could sense a deep disturbance in him. He could not bear to see his friend so discomposed and so strove to continue the discussion.

"I think then we would best be served by utilising those tremendous skills for which you are renowned. Your depth of knowledge of sword and bow, of tactics and warfare and the leadership of men, place you in perfect position to take up the role of Seneschal of Imladris," said the dark-haired lord.

Glorfindel was pleased with this tribute and acknowledged his host's past as a warrior in his response.

"I am honoured by your confidence in me and I am delighted to accept. I hope to serve you well. What I know of your own skills I gleaned from Círdan, and I believe your weapon of choice was the sword? It is mine also, though I can wield most weapons with some skill." He paused. "I once had an apprentice who showed some promise with the knives. I wish I knew how he had fared."

Sharp sapphire eyes watched for but got no response from his near neighbour, but Elrond spoke up enthusiastically.

"Ai, there is a master of blades here amongst us in Master Erestor. He is the finest wielder of the knives in elvendom in my estimation, as well as being a formidable warrior in all other fields. He was fearsome to witness at the Battle of Dagorlad, eh Erestor?"

Ignoring Glorfindel's wide-eyed stare Erestor bowed his head in acknowledgement to his lord.

"You – a warrior?" Glorfindel choked. Ai, when he thought of all the times he and Ecthelion had cursed his ward for abandoning the sparring ring for the library…

"Oh, Erestor may be a scholar now and indeed he was tutor to both myself and my brother Elros, even past our majority, but he was the only scholar I knew who practiced regularly on the training grounds. He sought the most skilled of warriors, trained in sword and bow and knife, learning from his mistakes until indeed, the warriors began to turn to him to hone their skills. He is still the only elf I trust to give me a good workout. Perhaps you would like to cross blades with him Glorfindel? I am sure Erestor would not mind."

Glorfindel guessed by the straightened posture of the elf beside him that Erestor was uncomfortable with the testimonial and did not welcome Elrond's offer on his behalf. However Erestor simply inclined his head, not looking at Glorfindel.

"I am at the seneschal's disposal," he murmured.

In no way was Glorfindel going to let this opportunity slip by. Erestor, a warrior? This was a great surprise, and he longed to see how his ward had fared.

"Very well. I wish to take up my duties as soon as possible, but perhaps I could come to your office after this meeting to arrange a time?"

Erestor finally turned to face him, the calm mask firmly in place once again. "I have many meetings today, but I will be free before breakfast tomorrow, say, at sunrise? I would not delay you by requiring a visit to my office without necessity."

"Ah, but there are many other things I would like to discuss with you, dear counselor," replied Glorfindel. Oh, yes, many things – like love, and its denial…

Erestor did not reply, but Glorfindel had no doubt that Erestor knew to what things he referred. When the meeting drew to a close Glorfindel stood to follow him. The black robes whispered along the floor as the raven-haired elf crossed to the door to his office. The poise and elegance in his posture sparked a flood of desire in the seneschal, a physical reaction to the presence of the one who had always been in his heart. Erestor was*his*, his beauty, his love, his passionate pen-neth. He had to find the reason for his reticence so that he could recapture the elf, without whom he doubted he could live. On entering the office Glorfindel closed the door so that Elrond would not hear them, but was annoyed to see that the office was not empty – Saelbeth awaited them.

Erestor turned to Glorfindel. "I am sure Saelbeth has many items for my attention. Perhaps if you wished to return at a later time…?"

Glorfindel grinned. He was not going to be so easily dismissed. "Not at all, Master Erestor. I will wait. I am a patient elf."

A flash of irritation crossed Erestor's visage in the face of such persistence but he gave no other visible sign. Instead he started to discuss arrangements, letters and queries with his assistant. Glorfindel watched as the slim hand dipped a black-feathered quill into the heavy crystal inkwell, fascinated by the elegant sweep of the pen stroke across the cream parchment. Would that that hand was upon him…

Glorfindel took the opportunity to look around the office. There had been no time and he had had no inclination to peruse the office in the dim light of the previous night. Now he searched for clues to this changed Erestor, this obviously efficient, cool and respected ellon who, as Elrond had said himself, ran Imladris. The room was a haven of order and symmetry. It's shelves were neat, the papers stamped, noted and filed in precise order. There was little of the personal relics that he had seen in Elrond's office. There was but one picture upon the wall, a painting of a black horse running wild and free across an open plain, a blue lake and distant high mountains visible in the background. Glorfindel's heart clenched when he saw it, for it was a scene he recognized well - the Plains of Tumladen, where so often he had ridden in joy and happiness with Erestor. That the horse was Hirnîn he had no doubt, for Erestor had loved him greatly, being his first true mount.

He rested his eyes once more upon Erestor, taking in the controlled and efficient nature of the dark elf. His voice was measured, his tone sure, his control complete. This was his element, this was his world. For whatever reason he had eschewed his past, he had made for himself a present where power was at his fingertips yet was wielded only in the name of his lord - his new lord. Elrond. As he watched the discussion was completed and Saelbeth, after bowing to the new seneschal, retreated to his office to carry out the tasks laid upon him. Erestor too retreated, standing behind the wide mahogany desk, using it as a shield between them. A wall which Glorfindel had to try to break down. He looked at Erestor, wondering who would speak first, holding the other elf's gaze firmly, allowing no further withdrawal.

"So," he said finally, "you are now Erestor of Lindon. Tell me *Erestor of Lindon*, what terrible thing did I do to you that you have renounced our pledge entirely? For I came back to Middle Earth to search for you, to fulfill that pledge so that we would join together in the union of our love and our souls. What hurt did I lay upon you that you have rejected me so completely? Tell me Erestor, so that I may make amends and turn your heart towards me once more. For without your love I cannot go forth. Without your love I am nothing."

The plea was extreme, it was from his soul and in pouring forth his words, he poured forth the agony which had encompassed him the night before. Surely his pen-neth would not hold him at bay upon hearing the honesty in his voice? The dark elf looked at him squarely.

"I grieve for you my lord, do not doubt that, yet I must reiterate - I am not Erestor of Gondolin." He hesitated, lowering his gaze, breaking the connection with the golden lord. The next words could barely be heard. "The Erestor you knew was surely worthy of your love and devotion for I see that it was great. I am a different elf. My life started in Lindon. I acknowledge no other life before that…." He paused once more, before lifting his head to complete his speech. His eyes glistened. "Erestor of Gondolin is dead, my lord."

Glorfindel gasped, not believing what he had heard. "No, no, meleth! Whatever happened, whatever has turned you from me - please, it can be mended. Le melin, Erestor! I am returned. You don't have to be alone anymore."

He moved to circle the desk, to take Erestor in his arms but the dark elf straightened, irritation flashing in his eyes, determination evident in his posture.

"Hold my lord! As I have spoken, so shall it remains! I will brook no further attempt on your part to pursue this matter against my will. I have told you and I tell you again, I am Erestor of Lindon and I hold to my word!"

This was the Chief Counsellor. This was cold, calm elf that the twins had spoken of, this was the voice and position and frontage he assumed when he was to be obeyed. Glorfindel felt the determination in those words and read the resolution therein. Only he had chosen the wrong elf to practice those skills upon. He felt fury rise that his pen-neth, his *ward*, would confront him in this way. He too had his limits and his temper rose. He moved towards Erestor, brushing his lips against his love's cheek as he spoke into that sweet pointed ear. His own voice was harsh, cold in the pain of another rejection.

"I will not accept this, Erestor. I faced Salgant and Turgon to rescue you from abuse; I faced restrictions so tight that kissing you *once* as a lover broke my oath; and upon the heights of Cirith Thoronath I faced pain and torment and burning flesh, just to keep you safe. I have lived my life for you, and I have died for you, and I have challenged the Valar for you. I will *not* accept that I have lost you! You are mine, Erestor, now and forever, and no matter how long it takes I will have your love once more!"

With that he turned and marched towards the door. As he placed his hand upon the lever, he turned again to the dark advisor.

"Tomorrow morning, at sunrise in the training grounds. I will see you there!"

 

*****

 

Saelbeth was a discreet elf. One had to be, to be the personal assistant to Master Erestor for the papers that crossed his desk, the discussions that were held in his office, the secrets that were entrusted to the dark elf were all witnessed by Saelbeth. Master Erestor trusted him, and he would never betray that trust. So when voices began to float through the heavy, closed door, he shut his ears to them. The tension between his employer and the new seneschal had been obvious but again, it was not in his nature to pry. When the voices became raised he did not flinch but simply bent over his work. Master Erestor did not hesitate to use cutting words when patient reason did not accomplish his objective. Nor did the slam of the door cause any discernable change in the assistant. After all, both Master Erestor and Lord Elrond knew full well how to infuriate as well as placate.

When the resounding crash came, Saelbeth leapt in alarm. *That* he had never heard before! Swift steps brought him to the door in seconds and he flung it open to find Master Erestor calmly gathering his papers together. Confused, Saelbeth stared at him, then saw the huge ink stain splattered over one cream wall. Beneath the stain, on the floor, was the shattered debris of the crystal inkwell. The shards were small, evidence of great force having been used to smash the heavy item. Whoever had thrown it was an elf of great strength. Whoever had caused such a throw was a elf capable of great provocation.

Master Erestor looked up. "Ah, Saelbeth," he said evenly. "There has been a slight accident. Please have the servants clean it up before I return from the meeting with the representatives from Bree." And with that Master Erestor glided gently from the room, leaving a bemused and admiring assistant.

*****

The remainder of the day was taken up with becoming familiar with his post and his troops. In his work Glorfindel could find release of his frustration and he leant all his energy into the ordinances of his office. He reviewed the warriors, visited the barracks and surveyed his new office in the outer courtyard. The walls of his office were covered with fine and extensive maps of the boundaries of Imladris and the patrol routes required. The many records of patrols, warriors, weapons and supplies were in cabinets positioned around the room. Glorfindel grimaced. Documentation was never his forte, even when he had ruled a House of Gondolin. He regarded it as a necessary evil, that was all. He smiled feebly in remembrance of a young elf who had quietly taken over some of those duties for him as he had grown towards his majority. He stroked the polished desk, remembering another desk, long ago. How he had been tempted, how often had he been tempted to lift and lay that elf upon that desk, to kiss him, to love him, to cherish him there and then….

The flat of his hand came down upon the desk top. He would not surrender. He would not give in. He needed that elf so much - and that elf needed him.

 

*****

Glorfindel dressed with care the next morning. Following his bath he took one of the bottles of oil arranged in his bathing chamber for his use. It was sandelwood, a scent he had always favoured and one Erestor was sure to recognize. He took care to rub it well onto his torso and arms, bringing up a sheen on his firm muscles. He noticed once again a fine lattice of silver lines on his body, evidence of scars gained in battles in his previous life. When he had been reborn he had commented on them and had been informed by Varda that their placement was in remembrance of his heroic acts. They were not unattractive and did not cause discomfort so Glorfindel had dismissed them from his mind.

A quick swipe of the oil through his hair then a firm brush brought the golden locks to a shimmering brightness, restrained only by side warrior braids and a twist of leather to hold back the herring-bone plait from his face. Form-fitting leather leggings would show strong thigh muscles, and boots of a matching hue were added to a crisp white linen shirt fastened only with laces at the front and on the cuffs. He viewed himself critically. If he could not appeal to Erestor's mind then he would take what advantage he could and seduce his body. They had never sparred alone in Gondolin, always with Ecthelion or the other warriors. Even in company Erestor had always found it difficult not to show his admiration and desire when he saw Glorfindel in full warrior mode. A good warrior used all the weapons at his disposal -and Glorfindel was one of the best.

The golden lord collected his sword and knives. The weapons had been given to him by Tulkas himself, and were finely-balanced and well honed. The corridors of the Last Homely House were lightly traversed at this time of the morning and his passage was swift to the training ground to the rear of the building. The grounds were divided into sections for the many different disciplines of a warrior. The archery ranges were furthest from the house, set in glades amongst the trees so that the forest could be used for some of the more advanced training. The sparring rings, large and small, were nearer and many had benches or ranks of seats to accommodate spectators in training or for tournaments. The one Erestor had chosen was a smaller, more secluded one, flanked by high bushes. The advisor awaited him.

Erestor too had dressed with care – with care to be as unrevealing as possible. No form-fitting leggings for him, but wide-legged black pants, the toes of his black boots barely showing from under the hems. The black silk shirt was high-necked and long-sleeved, the voluminous gathers shrouding his slim upper body. Raven hair was tightly bound into one long braid, allowing the dark elf easy access to the cream-handled knives strapped onto his back. His sword hung in his hand, gleaming in the pale morning light.

As Glorfindel stepped forward to greet him a stray shaft of sunlight shone through the trees onto the warrior elf, turning golden beauty into an unbelievable vision of perfection. He heard Erestor choke back a gasp and he knew that his care in dressing had had the desired effect. Erestor's eyes were wide and today Glorfindel could see the chocolate-brown tints he was so familiar with turn warm in appreciation. His own loins grew warm at the sight of his beloved's reaction. By the end of this session, Erestor would be his again. Glorfindel bowed to his sparring partner.

"Counsellor, I give you greeting of a good morning."

Erestor returned the bow and the greeting. "Mae govannen, Lord Seneschal."

"How shall we start? I thought after a little warm up, the sword then the knives?"

Erestor nodded in agreement and, as he had already been through his preparatory exercises, he stood back to let Glorfindel take the field.

Glorfindel made every stretch count, extending his muscles, holding his turns, swinging the sword through the salutations of the morning with poise and ease. He could feel Erestor's eyes upon him, and knew that the advisor watched him in rapt attention. Just the thought of the result of the sight upon Erestor made his own member twitch and grow in anticipation.

The moment of sparring arrived and the elves made their formal salute. Glorfindel took up an attacking stance but was not surprised when Erestor blocked him with ease. He swung again, his sword forming a large arc in its sweep and he was delighted to see the skill and grace with which Erestor turned to meet his blade. Lunge, cross, parry, attack – the strokes were swift and even as the swordplay continued and the elves took measure of the other's proficiency. The pace began to quicken and soon both were panting, their breath forming trails of vapour in the crisp morning air. The quickened breaths were not due to fatigue or the sweat of exertion but of need, as the heat of desire swept through them. As the metal swords clashed so other swords engorged. Eyes darkened as they met in desire, challenge given and challenge acknowledged, if not accepted. Glorfindel felt his shirt clinging to his torso, knowing that it outlined his muscular frame. In turn he appraised the silk shirt of his opponent, following the lithe muscles as they flexed beneath the slim layer. The connection between the two elves was such that their senses were heightened - a lick of the lips by one was felt by the other as a sensual tongue upon salty flesh; a thrust of the arm was echoed by a pressure of strained leggings upon swollen arousal.

Glorfindel was elated. His strategy was working. Erestor was responding to that most basic of emotions - lust - and if he, Glorfindel, could increase the desire, bring to the boil the fervor which had been building over the session then perhaps that lust could release the love he knew was within. Glorfindel knew that *he* needed release for he was as a wound coil, needing to unleash his passion within the elf of his heart. At a natural break in the conflict he addressed his dark love.

"You are a warrior indeed, Erestor of Lindon, and a truly worthy opponent. You seem flushed, as hot and - breathless - as I. Perhaps we should divest ourselves of at least our shirts so that we can continue with the knives?"

So innocuous, so innocently said, yet the mellifluous voice was laced in seduction and glamour. The raven-haired elf could only comply in his enthrallment. Glorfindel approached the counsellor, his nimble fingers undoing the bindings of the knife harness. He turned and lay them neatly on the ground. He noted that they were not the ones Ecthelion had gifted upon his ward but then, if Erestor had fought in as many battles as Elrond had claimed those knives would surely have been retired now. He turned back to Erestor and saw that the dark elf had remained still, as if spell-bound.

"May I?" Without waiting for an answer Glorfindel began to unfasten the buttons on the black silk shirt, his dexterous fingers slipping each one free slowly, savouring each inch of creamy skin that was revealed. Erestor closed his eyes, trembling beneath the intimate gaze, the onslaught of desire which inflamed him. Millennia of resolve seemed to melt in moments and Erestor could feel himself swaying into the tender touch of those calloused fingers on his flesh.

Glorfindel felt that sway but withheld any indication of triumph. The shirt was now open fully and his eyes devoured the lightly-defined muscles, the roseate teats, the trickles of perspiration running down the chest. As tempted as he was to stroke and tease, lick and suck the proud nipples he reined himself in and instead focussed on removing the black shirt from the slender body. Eyes still closed, Erestor's lips opened to allow an exhalation to ensue, his increased respiration revealing his hunger for more. Over the shoulders, down the arms Glorfindel's fingers slid and the sword that was held in the advisor's hand slipped unnoticed from lax fingers as Erestor arched into the touch. A final twist and the material was free and fluttered gently to the ground.

"My turn."

Erestor opened his eyes, unsure of the meaning of the statement, his brain unable to process the words through the fog of lust and desire. Sapphire eyes gestured to the ties on the white shirt and as if in a trance Erestor's fingers fumbled at the knots. They released swiftly, uncovering the golden lord's frame to his gaze. First one then the other of the cuff laces were untied. Erestor's hand rose once more to the open shirt and rested on the warm flesh. Fingers splayed, he moved his hand to cover the area over the seneschal's heart, causing a groan to emanate from deep within Glorfindel's throat.

"It beats." The words were filled with wonder, with hesitant hope. They needed no explanation. Glorfindel nodded.

"I live again, Erestor." He bit back declarations which longed to burst forth, knowing that it was yet too soon.

"You are here. Reborn." Almost a sob in those soft words.

"Aye." Glorfindel could sense that this was a revelation, a realization not until now truly understood. Erestor had seen, but had not believed. The warrior gestured to his shirt. "I should remove this." He clasped the hem, and drew it over his head in one movement. Golden skin was revealed, the silver marks as gentle highlights of where his scars had been. Erestor's fingers reached out to trace them, fingertips a hair's-breath from touching them.

"Evidence of my warrior life, retained at the will of the Valar," Glorfindel murmured.

"They shine like mithril."

No longer able to restrain himself, Erestor leant forward to press his lips to one of the scars, hearing Glorfindel hiss at the softness of the kiss. Erestor looked up, searching Glorfindel's face and saw love and hope and need upon that beloved face.

"Glorfindel...?" One word but it conveyed the ache of a heart that had not dared to hope, a longing that centuries of solitude had only nurtured, and a lifetime of self-loathing and self-flagellation. A tear trickled down Erestor's cheek, and Glorfindel lift his hand to cradle Erestor's soft cheek, his large thumb brushing that tear away. Though he longed to pull his pen-neth into his arms and claim him, he felt that Erestor needed a moment to compose himself, a moment to fully comprehend that his heart's mate had returned and that his soul could be completed.

"Let me dispose of this, ind nîn." He turned away, turned his back to Erestor, folding the shirt, bending to lay it upon the unused knives.

"NO!"

Erestor released a strangled cry, of revulsion and fear, of remembered pain brought into the here and now. The advisor stumbled back and Glorfindel turned, shocked to see sheer terror upon his  
love's face.

"Meleth! What is wrong?"

Erestor swiftly backed away, forgetting his shirt, neglecting his weapons in his overwhelming need to flee from that which had horrified him.

"I am not your love!" he gasped, voice rampant with fear. "I cannot be your love – ever! I am Erestor of Lindon. I am Erestor of Lindon!"

The dark elf ran, ran as if a demon was behind him, ran to escape the trap he had so nearly fallen into. Ran to escape his own demons – but could not.

The elf who was left behind bellowed a roar, falling to his knees as tears flooded down his face at the collapse of his hopes when so near to completion, his body so near to release, his Erestor so nearly in his arms.

"Meleth nîn!"

The shout resounded through the forest and the woodland creatures quaked at hearing the wounded beast sound forth his pain. Elves within hearing also heard the scream.

And wept for the loss within the tormented cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:  
> (with help from Nienna and Andrannath)  
> pen-vuin – dear one  
> pen-neth – little one  
> meleth – love  
> Le melin – I love you  
> ind nîn - my heart


	9. Chapter 9

Miruvor.

A liquor of potent heat and depth brewed in Imladris. A reviver of spirits, succour to those on long journeys in the cold, amongst the snowy heights of the Misty Mountains. Revitalisation in a bottle.

Glorfindel drowned in it.

Every night.

Without fail.

It became his friend, his need – though he longed for his other need. He could have refrained – but he didn't want to. Each evening after the dinner, a dinner in which he took no pleasure because he could taste nothing in his sense-starved existence, he went to the cellars. To greet his new friend. Because the other friend, his other lover, would not greet him. Would not face him. Would not love him. From dusk till dawn he indulged, snatching sleep where he could and when he could. He consumed the potions Elrond had given him not to remove his fearsome dreams, but to assuage his waking nightmare.

During daylight hours Glorfindel did not indulge. He had been too long a warrior, too long a lord to evade his responsibilities and his duties. They were all that were left to him; his weapons, his warriors, his men. He attended every training session, he personally reviewed every patrol that left the compound. He watched and he commented, praising where he found strength, correcting where he found error but always with a view to the welfare of his men. He wrote his reports, he attended meetings, he took his turn as the leader of his patrol, guarding the boundaries of Imladris with unparalleled fervour. If sometimes he seemed dimmed, depressed, out-of-sorts then Andrann, his captain and second in command, made no comment. Her loyalty was total, and she would never betray him. On patrol he abstained for the lives of his men he valued above all things – save one. In the role of seneschal he was superb. All the warriors fought to gain his attention, his approval. He was their shining lord and he lived for them.

He certainly did not live for Erestor. For Erestor would not let him.

Since the end of the fight on only his second morning in his new home, the home he had to live in for untold years ahead, Erestor would not greet him. He had cut himself off completely. His door stayed closed, his eyes averted whenever the golden lord came into view. If Glorfindel entered a room Erestor left; if he walked down a corridor and the dark counsellor drew near then the black-clad figure turned aside. Glorfindel was alone.

He made many attempts to pass the door of Erestor's office but always it was barred, either physically by the strong bolt within or by Saelbeth's prowling presence. He wanted, needed to ask Erestor about that dreadful morning, about the reason his love had fled from him in such a wild and terrified manner. But the dark elf would allow no private talk whatsoever. Glorfindel was a strong, determined ellon who normally would let nothing get in the way of his objectives. He had not reckoned on Erestor's strength of will and sheer stubbornness. He was his malleable pen-neth no more.

Only in formal meetings with Elrond or in the full counsel of Imladris did Glorfindel have a chance to see his beautiful pen-neth at close quarters, if not to speak to him. His eyes devoured that black-draped form, never leaving that slim figure, those sinuous hands, those soft rose-red lips. The other participants in those meetings tried not to look at the golden lord in their embarrassment, for they sensed the desire in that glare and perceived it only as a lust unfulfilled. Glorfindel had learned that Erestor was much hunted for his seductive beauty by the elves inhabiting the dwelling, but that experience over the centuries had taught them that their desire was hopeless and that Erestor was unresponsive. This did not stop the transient visitors to the realm from attempting to attract his attention, but their approaches were unwanted and rejected gently by the counsellor. It was Glorfindel's only comfort.

Glorfindel learned all the secret places of Imladris, all the corridors, balconies, gardens where he might hide to discreetly observe his dark beauty. From the corner of one portico he could see through the window to watch Erestor in Elrond's office, in deep discussion over policies and provisions; on a walkway overlooking the study he saw him seated next to Elrohir and Elladan as they reviewed their daily lessons; next the corner of the courtyard he viewed him bidding farewell to departing travellers. Every glimpse of the counsellor was a torment, but each encounter was treasured by the lonely heart. In an unexpected way it had given him an insight into his lost love's new life. He saw the depth of respect in which Erestor was held, the unassuming way in which the tasks laid upon his slim shoulders were accomplished; accurately, effectively, completely. He revelled in the overheard comments of the other Rivendell elves, in their admiration for the devotion and zeal of this gentle counsellor in his service to their lord.

It did not stop the weeping of his heart.

****

The Lord of Imladris was alarmed. It had been only a few months since the reborn lord's arrival and yet it seemed that the Gondolin warrior was determined to drink himself back to Námo's Halls. The cause seemed to be the discord which had been ever present between the Chief Counsellor and the Seneschal - but why Elrond could not imagine. Glorfindel did not seem to want the rift and had indeed, to Elrond's knowledge, tried to bridge it by overtures of friendship and amity towards Erestor. These had been rejected totally by the dark-haired elf. The tension was evident and causing whispered talk through the halls of the Last Homely House.

He decided to try to broach the subject with his long-time friend first. Erestor was dismissive of his concern.

"The seneschal and I have little in common, therefore I have no need for extraneous speech with him."

"It is not just extraneous speech, it is *any* speech! I have seen you, Erestor - you will not speak to him. Rather you will refer him to one of your assistants or carry on a dialogue through a third person before you will face him directly. You are as cold as Caradhras to him, mellon- nîn. What has he done to alienate you so in the short time he has been here?"

‘Lived' was an answer Erestor could have given him, or ‘Loved me'. Instead he lifted his head and faced his lord directly, speaking in measured tones.

"If you wish to command me, hir nîn, then I will converse with the seneschal."

Elrond sighed in exasperation. "I don't wish to command you, old friend. I just thought –" Erestor raised an eyebrow expectantly. Elrond shook his head in defeat. "Never mind." He tried a different tack.

"His nightmares have worsened," he said, a healer's eye trained upon Erestor. Ah, it was there. A tightening of the lips and a quick blink of the eyes.

"So I have heard."

"He dreams of a balrog."

No response.

"He dreams of his death."

Nothing.

"Of the deaths of his friends. Of those he loved." Erestor finally turned to face Elrond.

"Probably Ecthelion," he said quietly.

"Why Ecthelion?" asked Elrond. "All the histories speak of him being a high-ranking lord, but they do not mention any other relationship."

Erestor shrugged. "There are transcripts of interviews with survivors. Anecdotes not confirmed. Some intimate that they were close. They were both warriors, both heroes." He paused, but Elrond did not notice the hesitation or the sadness upon Erestor's face, for he was reviewing in his mind the histories that had been written of that time. Erestor's voice was soft when he spoke once more. "He was certainly an elf worthy of being Glorfindel's – friend. Worthier than most."

Elrond nodded, eyes distant in contemplation. "I have heard similar interpretations." He was silent as he reflected upon puzzling information he had but recently heard – news which if he could but interpret, might lay clues as to Erestor's attitude towards the reborn elf. Looking up at his friend he placed a bright smile on his face. "By the way, the twins came to me yesterday. I believe you were teaching them of the Fall of Gondolin. It seems our golden lord has sparked an interest in history."

Erestor smiled gently at the thought of the enthusiastic boys and their fierce questioning at their lessons of the day before.

"When heroics, battles, balrogs and bravery combine, they are most willing to learn. I only wish that they would take more interest in the admittedly convoluted families of the elves of the First Awakening, or the politics of the realms of Men. Such fine details do not appeal to such budding warriors – as I well remember!"

Elrond joined in his laughter, recognising in the slight reference the teaching that this elf had bestowed on other reluctant twins. He returned to the subject in hand.

"The boys were telling me of the number of balrogs defeated by the Lords of the Hidden City, and repeated what you had once told me – that Glorfindel had killed three balrogs. Yet since you taught me that I have had many years to research this myself. The histories only mention one, the one on the slopes of Cirith Thoronath. The one that killed him."

Erestor flinched at those words but tried to divert his lord. "It is as I said of Ecthelion – anecdotal. I did tell this to the boys," he said earnestly. "I would not be so inaccurate as to claim it as truth."

Elrond nodded, but was not distracted. "Yes, but as I said, I too have read those transcripts. Not once is that information included. Where did *you* hear it, my friend?" He leaned forward, trying to discern any changes upon Erestor's countenance, eager for any revelations which may come. He was disappointed.

"My information came from one who was there – one who had been in the Great Market during the fighting." Erestor bent his head, his voice lowering in remembered pain. "He died shortly after telling me of this. There was no one else to question, nor did I have any opportunity to….further my investigations."

Elrond reached out a hand to his friend. "Erestor, are you all right? You seem upset."

Erestor smiled weakly, blinking away unbidden tears. "The one who told me was someone who was very – dear – to me."

Elrond squeezed the hand that clutched his own. "You still mourn his loss," he said simply. Erestor nodded, briskly wiping away the solitary tear that had escaped.

"More than you could ever believe."

The pain that was so evident in Erestor's eyes caught at Elrond's heart and compassionate nature and he gathered the grieving elf to him, offering his comfort and understanding. The two elves sat in reflective silence for some time, each remembering those they had lost in their lives, and praying for their peace and tranquillity in Mandos' Halls.

*****

Glorfindel was no easier to approach. The golden-haired elf did not want to speak of his relationship – his very difficult relationship – with the dark-haired advisor.

"I am well, Elrond. There is no need to watch me so closely."

Elrond laughed. "I didn't know that I was *that* obvious! I must refine my methods, else Celebrían will say that I am not doing my job correctly." He sobered, something he wished Glorfindel would do. "Nevertheless my friend, your pain is so obvious that it does not need a trained eye to see how you grieve."

Glorfindel looked down onto the rug in front of Elrond's desk. It was rich in colour and depth, reflecting the tastes of this Lord of Imladris. Elrond was a very complex elf, a possible result of his mixed heritage and convoluted upbringing. Of edhil, human and Maian blood, he and his twin brother had been born at the Mouths of Siríon; had been captured and cared for by two of the sons of Fëanor when their home was invaded; then released to the ward-ship of Círdan and Gil-galad to dwell in Lindon. As inheritors of royal blood from both parents, the two Peredhil had received a commensurate education and were thus knowledgeable beyond most. They had used this knowledge to make their Choice at the end of the War of Wrath. The pain that Elrond would have felt in the resulting and ultimate separation from his twin was, by all accounts, immense. Perhaps it was from this point, or from the vile and vast experience of horrendous conflicts and the pain therein, that Elrond had turned to the healing arts. Arts which he had now chosen to practise on Glorfindel.

"My pain is my own, Elrond," the golden lord reiterated. "I thank you for your concern – but I do not need it."

The sceptical stare said it all, but Elrond did not speak. He sat silently, waiting in the hope that Glorfindel would use the moment to organise his thoughts and pain – and speak of them. His patience was rewarded.

"If my pain is obvious then it is because of my losses. I lost my city, my home, my king, my life – and my lover. So now if you are satisfied…" The large elf made as if to rise but was stopped short at Elrond's next words.

"He must have been very special."

The pain was like a huge wave, swamping him; making him inhale sharply to relieve the stabbing at his heart. Glorfindel tried to dissemble.

"Who do you mean?"

"Your lover. You place him last in your sentence – yet I sense that he was first in your thoughts."

Yes, he was ever in Glorfindel's thoughts. But he wasn't going to tell Elrond that.

"Why do you say he? What do your history books say about my private life? Or are you delving blindly into my past in an unwanted attempt to give me counsel? I need it not, my Lord Elrond!"

Elrond could feel the pain rolling from the distraught elf. Outwardly Glorfindel seemed to be in control but the Peredhel could sense that the control was paper-thin. He tried to sooth the warrior.

"It was – suggested - to me that your loved one was male by someone who is very knowledgeable of the annals of history. I am sorry if I upset you. Please, won't you be seated again?"

Glorfindel sat, wondering. He suspected that Erestor had been the source of speculation but why would the counsellor wish to involve Elrond in his denial?

"Who? Who said that my lover was male?"

"Does it matter? Why, was he wrong?" Elrond asked gently. Glorfindel shook his head, seeing no reason to lie. Yes, his lover was male – yet he had been his lover only in his dream, his beautiful, wonderful dream….

"Yes, he was special. He was my life, the keeper of my heart. My soulmate. My betrothed." He closed his eyes, visualising Erestor as he had been on the morning of his begetting day – that last, sweet morning. His voice trembled as he spoke. "He had a delight in life unseen in any other – bright, he was a bright spirit. And lively! I can see him now, riding wildly across the plains of Tumladen, shouting for the joy of the day, his hair as wild and as free as he was. His laughter was like the sparkles in the cascades, dancing, jumping, entrancing. He -" a sob, "-he fit perfectly in my arms. My perfect, enchanting, darling E –"

He broke off. He could say no more lest he reveal all in his despair. Wrapping his arms around his waist in a faint hope of self-comfort, Glorfindel wept as he rocked back and forth in the pain of the loss; the pain of that morning in the forest, when his love had fled from him.

Already he had given too much away. As deeply as he had been hurt by Erestor's behaviour in these past few months he still loved him, still adored him. He would keep his own counsel and would not betray him to Elrond. After all these months, all his attempts, all his lonely tormented nights, Glorfindel was losing hope that Erestor would return to him. But between his work – and the miruvor - he would survive. He had to. Námo would not let him fade for he had a role, a purpose yet to play, and the Valar would not grant him a return to Mandos before then.

Elrond was leaning over to him, holding his hand, comforting him. So perhaps it *was* Ecthelion. Glorfindel had almost said his name. The Lord of the Fountain certainly fit all the descriptions given him by the golden lord. He spoke gently to the weeping elf.

"I am so sorry, my friend. I did not mean to distress you this way. We will talk no more now, but please – I am here if you ever wish for a friendly ear." He paused. " I know that you have been unhappy here since your arrival. I only wished to find a way to lessen your burden, to help you to make friends and become more - part of our community. But if you do not wish to talk…."

Glorfindel nodded bleakly, but realised that he wanted to talk. Or rather that he wanted Elrond to talk. He needed find out what had happened to Erestor that had made his beloved spurn him so. Elrond was his friend, had been his friend for an Age. Perhaps he had some insight into the part of Erestor's life he had missed.

"Elrond, what know you of Erestor? Who is he?"

Elrond started. He had not expected *that* question after such a gruelling confession. Why on Arda was Glorfindel so interested in his counsellor? What was the animosity that arose there, at least on Erestor's part?

"Why do you want to know?" he asked in concern.

Glorfindel looked directly at Elrond, deciding that it was time to do that which he had not wished to do. He was going to lie through his teeth.

"My interest in Erestor is because – he reminds me so of my lost love. I only wished to befriend him, to have converse with him to ease my soul. He seems to have taken my interest in the wrong way and now will not talk to me at all. It hurts to see one who is so like my love - spurn my… interest."

Elrond was unsure for he could sense deception in the elf, but he saw no reason to withhold simple information. He cast his mind back, remembering those days with warmth.

"I met Erestor when my brother and I arrived in Lindon after the War of Wrath, when we were freed from the captive attentions of Maglor and Maedhros. Although we were well educated by the brothers our viewpoints were somewhat skewed by their prejudices. Erestor was a scribe in Gil-galad's new court in Lindon. From the little Erestor has told me, and from what I heard from Gil-galad, Erestor had been a refugee of Nargothrond. He and his family wandered near the remains of Nevrast trying to escape the attentions of Melkor's troops. Erestor was still a minor at the time of the rout, and had apparently been badly hurt during the destruction of Nargothrond. He was fortunately nursed back to health by his mother, and brother and sister, but when they removed to the Mouths of Sirion with the mass of fleeing elves from the fall of Doriath and Gondolin, Erestor remained in Lindon."

Glorfindel nodded, knowing that their refugee status came of Gondolin, not Nargothrond. He was upset to hear that Erestor had been hurt. In what way? Oh, that he could comfort his beautiful darling. He hung on Elrond's every word, like a man who is dying of thirst seeks for every drop of moisture.

"Erestor remained," Elrond continued, "working as a stable-hand until he took up a position with Ereinion's household. His knowledge and skill with a pen were discovered by accident one day and the Master of Horse, being no mean elf, could not in all conscience neglect one of such education and learning. He introduced him to the Chief Scribe and the rest quickly followed. Being of an age with my brother and I, Ereinion assigned him as our companion, tutor and soon friend. We came to love him greatly and when the time came to found Imladris I knew that I could find no one better to help me in its building. He was at my side during every trial, every battle, every joy. He is one of the most consummate ellons I know – scribe, horsemaster, warrior. And so he is as he has always been, a true friend and one of the most rounded elves I have ever know. He is a true marvel to me, Glorfindel. But be warned – he has ever been a solitary elf. That is why he has not responded to your entreaties. He too had a love, a love who died. A love he still mourns. If you approach him as a suitor he *will* reject you. Be more circumspect in your endeavours, mellon- nîn, and you may find the way to become his friend, even if nothing more."

His mother, sister and brother. Mirieth, Díwen and – one of Mirieth's sons? Were they still alive?. Glonfindel pondered on this news. Had they died, or left in the return of the Eldar to Valinor at the end of the First Age? If he could meet with them, talk to them. Discover what had happened… At least Erestor had not been alone. His poor little love…

" I thank you, my lord. At least I now start to understand the counsellor. Perhaps this information will allow me to return to your household some of the tranquillity it deserves."

Elrond laughed. "My house has *never* been tranquil, Glorfindel! I have twin sons!"

Glorfindel smiled gently. "They are a blessing, my lord. Both very inquisitive, both bright and full of life. A joy."

Elrond glowed as any father would. "They are indeed bright. They have a thirst for life I can barely keep up with. And for knowledge. Oh, and in that regard, Glorfindel –thank you for your patience with my sons. They told me of the discussion that you had with them. Is it true then, that you faced three balrogs, not just the one that is recorded? The elf I mentioned earlier has said that he spoke to a trustworthy witness."

"Yes," said Glorfindel. "Though I am not surprised that it was not recorded. Not many elves escaped the Great Market, and the confusion and deep infighting was such that I doubted anyone would have remembered. We were only concerned in defending the city – and saving our skins. I only told one person – my betrothed."

A flare of sympathy shot through Elrond. "Ai!" he said sadly. "Oh, mellon- nîn, I am sorry to tell you, but I believe that your betrothed was the one who told my – friend - of your feat. He told me that your beloved died shortly afterwards."

Glorfindel smiled grimly. "Yes, I have been told reliably that my betrothed died on Cirith Thoronath at the same time I did. That he is no more. That he – "He drew his hand across his face. "Please, Elrond. Excuse me, I can speak no more. I have an appointment."

Yes. His lover was dead. There was only a liquid lover to await him now.

Elrond seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts. "No solution was ever found at the bottom of a glass of miruvor, Glorfindel."

The golden lord nodded absently, smiling weakly. "No, but it hurts less there." He leaned towards Elrond as if to confide in him. His hollow tones and apparent despair alarmed the Peredhel.

"Do you wish to know the truth, Elrond? Do you wish to know how I really feel? Now ? Today? Here – in Imladris? I wish to the depths of Morgoth's hells in Angband that the Valar had left me well alone in the Halls of Waiting. An eternity of grey reflection is a thousand times more preferable to the months, years, centuries of desolation that they have condemned me to. If I could choose death right now, be it by balrog's grip, sword stroke or the elven sickness then I would choose it with joy. I hate the Valar, Elrond, for they have cheated me!" With a final snarl the imposing elf left swiftly, leaving a stunned lord behind.

And in his attempt to assimilate the desolate avowal Glorfindel had just pronounced, Elrond realised something else, something he had never expected. A new and startling revelation.

Erestor had said that the witness he had spoken to had died shortly afterwards. Glorfindel had only spoken to one elf of his killing of the two balrogs – his beloved, who died on Cirith Thoronath. If the two elves were reconciled into the one and the same, then it meant that to take his testimony then *Erestor* must have been in Gondolin when it fell! His friend, who had always sworn that he was of Lindon. Who was so secretive. Who was so pained. So who was he, truly?

Who in Arda was Erestor of Lindon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:  
> (with help from Nienna and Andrannath)
> 
> mellon- nîn – my friend  
> hir nîn – my lord  
> edhil – elf (race)  
> Peredhil – half-elven (plural)  
> Peredhel – half-elven (sing)


	10. Chapter 10

The seasons had turned and the promise of spring had burgeoned into the Gates of Summer. Preparations were in full swing for the Festival of Tarnin Austa. Elrond was unsure how Glorfindel would approach this tragic day. The golden lord's behaviour had not changed since the day of that depressing discussion and disclosure, though his more public excesses had been curbed. The miruvor supplies were still dwindling and the overall consumption had increased. However, Glorfindel had taken an interest in his twin sons, finding solace in their innocence and sweet trivialities. Their excitement at the upcoming festival was unbounded, though at their young age they would not be allowed to keep the whole vigil.

"But Ada says we may stay up a little later."

"*If* we promised not to talk."

"Or ask questions."

"Or whistle."

"Or sing."

Elladan paused, brow furrowed in dawning reflection. He raised his eyebrow in an uncanny copy of his father. "Will it be fun, 'Ro? Really?"

Elrohir paused before launching into a positive litany. "There will be music an' stalls an' lights an' - cake!"

An 'o' appeared on Elladan's mouth, and he smiled again.

"Yes, and we have a long sleep the night before, then a big lunch with all our family. There will be Ada an' Nana, an' Lindir an' Uncle Erestor an' you. You will come too, Uncle Glo'fin'l, won't you?"

Glorfindel glowed at the diminution of his name, one that the twins only used in excitement, but winced inwardly as he recalled another who had named him so.

"I will indeed, pyn-neth, if I be welcome at the table."

The elflings bounced up and down, clapping their hands with glee. The golden lord laughed at their exuberance and they laughed in return. The sheer joy caused such an escalation of merriment that all that were near turned to grin at the scene on the veranda.

In the shadows a black-clad figure smiled too, glad to see that the hurt he had caused had been somewhat assuaged by the innocence of the twins. Memories arose of similar circumstances, of a child's happiness in the arms of the golden lord and the love found therein. The solitary figure sighed, hoping against hope that this would mark a new phase in the life of the re-born warrior. Glorfindel deserved happiness, even perhaps a new love... Tears pricked at his eyes at the thought but he allowed them no ground. He had forfeited all rights to his own fulfillment by his selfish acts. Someone else should have the chance to make the Lord of Gondolin shine forth his golden light in the act of true love. A love he had once known - but now did not deserve. One last, longing look, then Erestor turned to go back to his desk and his work - what remained of his life - hopefully unnoticed by those on the veranda.

Elven eyesight is the keenest on Arda save for the mighty eagles, and the eager eyes of elflings are much more so. Elladan sighed as he sat upon Glorfindel's lap, snuggling against the broad chest of his protector.

"He is watching you again, Glorfindel," he said, lifting his head to try to meet the sapphire gaze. "He likes you."

"Glorfindel smiled grimly, reluctant to have this peaceful interlude brought low by sad ponderings. "I think not, Elladan. But that does not matter, because you two like me, don't you?" 

His attempt to divert the boys did not work. Elrohir looked up from where he was playing with his toy warriors.

"He does like you, really! I was drawing a picture for him and I did a picture of you and he said it was really good and asked if he could keep it. He wouldn't do that if he didn't like you, would he?"

Glorfindel could find no answer, save to fold his arms tighter around the child in his lap. He searched his mind frantically for a way to distract them, thinking on what would attract a child's attention. An image of a small figure on a stallion's broad back brought a wistful smile to his face.

"Shall we go to see my new horse, the one your adar gave to me?" he suggested. The response was immediate and in a very short time the two determined elflings had him almost at a run as they dragged him to the stables.

The stables of Imladris were large and well-stocked, for Elrond ran his own stud further up the valley. Elves had the essential empathy with horses which allowed the full personality and nature of the beast to be brought forth. There had been a mating with a Meara, a prince of horses, some generations ago as a gift from the Mearas to elvenkind. The horses of the House of Elrond still retained their noble qualities.

The golden lord beamed with delight when he beheld again the stallion he had chosen some weeks before. Although all the mounts he had been shown were excellent, this one had stood out; a proud white horse with a golden mane, so alike to his Asfaloth of the First Age. The stallion had whickered in amusement before bowing his head to Glorfindel and giving him permission to rename him.

"Hello, Asfaloth," he whispered, rubbing his broad hand along the proud head, and grinned when the horse pressed his muzzle to his tunic pockets. "Hungry again? Well I suppose you deserve a treat." He pulled forth the apples and nuts he had secreted there and gestured for the boys to do the same. Laying their offerings expertly on their outstretched palms they lifted their small hands up to the huge horse, who accepted their gifts eagerly. Glorfindel saw their delight but also saw that they had reserved some of the apples they had taken from the barrels in the kitchen.

"Are you hungry too, boys?" he asked.

"Oh no," said Elrohir. "We want to give some to Hirnîn too. Look, there he is!"

Glorfindel's knees almost buckled at the name. He had indeed noticed the huge black stallion which occupied a nearby stall. It was a fine creature, almost perfect in presentation, and he had known that its lord must be a superb equestrian. Now he knew the identity of his rider. The boys confirmed it as they chattered on.

"Uncle Erestor loves to ride. Hirnîn is wonderful, you can touch the sky if you stand on his back," boasted Elladan, oblivious to the derisive snorts of his twin.

"Don't be silly 'Dan, you've never stood on Hirnîn's back!" the younger twin protested, his arms folded and his face cross. Elladan brushed off the scolding.

"No, but Erestor has taken me on a ride with him!"

Elrohir snorted again. "We were *both* on his back, at the same time, and it was only as far as the Great Cascade." He turned eagerly to the golden lord, excited at sharing his accomplishments with him. "We went there for a picnic for Nana's begetting day. Ada says we can go again at Tarnin Austa. There is a small pool at the bottom where we can swim. Well, not *right* at the bottom, Ada says that the big pool is too dangerous, but a little away. Will you come with us too, Glorfindel?"

So many invitations! Glorfindel was not surprised as he had been welcomed very quickly into the bosom of Elrond's family. He was delighted at the rapport he had built with the two boys, so alike in looks, so different in character. Though both were bright and spirited, Elladan was the more active of the two, always longing to be involved and desperate to be included in the younger elves military training. Glorfindel had allowed him to sit on the sidelines at some of the junior classes as long as he was quiet. Quiet was not a word which could be easily applied to either twin though Elrohir, as the more studious, was the one who was allowed into Erestor's office, drawing or writing whilst the counsellor continued with his work.

Glorfindel sighed inwardly. He had tried again to approach Erestor to discover what had frightened the advisor so on that early morning; why he had fled from the glade in such terror. At every turn he was pushed away. Recently his nightmares had worsened, undimmed by Elrond's medicine or the miruvor. Last night it was not the balrog which had burnt the flesh from his bones or seared his eyes to sightless coals. The burns had come from pure ice and it was the ice that had been in Erestor's eyes, and touch, and breath. He had welcomed his re-lived death last night.

As he looked at the two animated boys he realized how lucky he was that Elrond trusted him with his sons. Considering his new reliance on alcohol, Elrond could have denied him access to the twins if he had thought him a potential danger. So far he did not. He smiled at the twins' chatter, playfully indulgent.

"...and I can ride Asfaloth!" Elladan finished enumerating his exhaustive plans. Glorfindel had not followed their discussion but guessed that the two stallions had been allotted new riders for the proposed outings.

"Only if Master Erestor and your parents agree," he warned. The lack of guile in their faces belied the plotting within.

"Oh, of course Uncle Glorfindel!"

They hurried after him as he left the stable, but the golden lord cast a glance back at the black stallion - and an idea began to form.

****

The eve of Tarnin Austa dawned with an Imladris shrouded in mist though, from the visible efforts of a struggling Anor, it seemed as if the heat would soon lift the cool strands of vapour and brighten the sky. Glorfindel greeted the day in a somewhat muted frame of mind, only too well aware of the sad history of this day. He stood on the balcony and said silent prayers for those who had died in the battle. Courageous Rog, so valiant in his stand on the plains of Tumladen; strong Duilin; brave Eglamoth and all the warriors of the Houses of Gondolin. He even thought of Salgant, and through the remove of ages forgave him for his weakness.

And Ecthelion. His dearest friend and stalwart champion. Honourable, caring, supportive of his ill-fated love. His ready smile and cheeky grin would always be the image brought to mind, not the terrible hiss of boiling water and melting armour. Bright, brilliant 'Thel. For sure, the dark elf who took chambers a short distance from here would be making the same salutations.

The long-awaited lunch was near upon him and he dallied to ensure that he would arrive at the same time as the others. He did not want to be first for he had set a little plan in motion and he did not want to be suspected as its instigator. As it happened, he arrived at Elrond's personal quarters at the same time as Lindir and Erestor. He gestured for the other two to proceed into the chamber.

The family section of the house was large, encompassing many rooms. It was to here that Elrond was able to retreat to escape the duties of an elf-lord, and become a father and husband. Glorfindel had become very familiar with the quarters since his arrival, and he was grateful for the generous way in which the Lord and Lady had shared their family life with him.

The family dining room was a bright and airy room, with one side open to the private garden. The sunlight streamed in, glistening off the glasses, gleaming on the plates and cutlery set in preparation. The twins bounded up to them.

"Happy eve, happy eve!" they chorused, dancing around the newcomers. Glorfindel laughed in delight, picking up Elladan and swinging the elfling in a large circle, barely missing the other two elves. Elrohir, not one to miss out on such fun, launched himself into Erestor's arms for a similar swing. The raven-haired advisor lifted him high and held him close, reveling in the sweet embrace. The room was filled with the joy of the day and the happiness rolled as a wave across all the participants. Glorfindel glanced around the gathered elves, realizing for the first time that here, in Imladris, he might truly have found a family to equal that which he had lost in Gondolin. In Elrond he saw both the wisdom of Turgon and the friendship of Ecthelion; in Celebrían, the sweetness of Idril. He held part of Eärendil in his arms and the other was held by - by Erestor. His Erestor. Erestor, the only true connection to that other family.

The swinging had stopped. Erestor finished his spin just in front of the golden elf and his face shone, illuminating the room. His beautiful brown eyes were lit with an inner glow, the intensity of the glow increasing as they locked with Glorfindel's sapphire eyes. For a split second their spiritual connection was renewed, pure harmony emanating as their fëar resonated for the first time in three millennia. The purity of that sweet transition transported all within the room and it was as if the Song of the Valar soared to its most exquisite height - for a moment. And for that moment, that sweet moment, Glorfindel felt like liquid joy. For a moment.

Sheer terror suddenly filled Erestor's eyes and he turned away. He broke that connection and reality crashed in on the seneschal. Only the greatest of restraint prevented the agonizing pain from erupting from his chest; prevented his heart from breaking into a thousand fragments, prevented the smile from slipping from his face and a cry issue forth. Instead, in an act of supreme thespian achievement Glorfindel forced his vocal cords to contract and his lips to move as he spoke a greeting to his hosts.

Elrond , Celebrían and Lindir shook in the aftermath of the emotional storm that had erupted within the dining room. Its intense tremors still swirled in psychic eddies through the entities standing there. The lord, lady and minstrel scrambled to focus on the expressed greetings of the other two elves who outwardly showed no reaction to the cataclysmic eruption they had precipitated.

Only the boys did not seem to notice the powerful emotions that had been evoked. Instead they provided the calming element in their innocent chatter, forcing the adults to revert to the roles politeness thrust upon them.

"Erestor, Erestor - come look! Come look!"

"Erestor, someone has given you a present!"

"Open it, open it!"

The dark elf was led to the table where there was indeed a parcel placed at his designated seat. The parcel was of soft red velvet tied with a golden ribbon, and his name was inscribed in stylized form on a fragment of parchment. Erestor glanced at Glorfindel but the elf lord's face was a study of nonchalance. Elrond and Celebrían watched the two elves intently, determined to investigate the emotional mystery which had vexed them since Glorfindel's arrival in Imladris.

Erestor's hand hesitated over the gift, reluctant to move further. He was very aware of the attention it had provoked but he knew his reluctance was causing more concern. Taking a deep breath he began to un-wrap the parcel.

It was beautiful. In the blackest ebony, carved to the most precise proportions, was a magnificent statuette of a horse - of Hirnîn. His head was raised in a gesture of nobility and his strong leg muscles were tensed as if ready to gallop in wild abandon. The carved saddle was inlaid in silver and gold and the reins were made of fine links of mithril. It was the work of a craftsman of great skill and worthy of great praise.

"It's lovely," breathed Elladan, who immediately coveted it. Elrohir was mute with awe as were his parents. Lindir too appreciated its beauty but was bemused by the events of the morning, and glanced between the adults in an attempt to decipher the enigmatic signals flying between them.

"What is the occasion, Erestor?" Celebrían asked softly. Her gaze was most intent upon the advisor, trying to discern what troubled him. When he spoke, she knew he was lying.

"I know of none, my lady, save the day that is here to be celebrated. Perhaps there was some mistake. I should find the giver so that I can return the gift to him or her."

It was Elrond who caught the brief tightening of the mouth, the quick flash of pain twisting Glorfindel's slight smile into an unhappy grimace. He pondered on the thought that this was some courting gesture gone awry, yet another approach which had been rejected by his careful counsellor. Yet it seemed much deeper than that. The connection between the two elves which had seemed so bright but minutes before was now cold and dead, at least on Erestor's part.

The twins were protesting to Erestor.

"No, Erestor - don't give it back!"

"Aye," chimed the second twin. " Ada and Nana say that if you get a present you should always say 'thank you' politely, even if you don't really like it." Eager eyes looked longingly at the carving once more. "But *I* think that it is beautiful. Don't you like it, Erestor?"

Such a simple question, so simply put - yet pregnant with a meaning beyond the boy's comprehension. Erestor raised his eyes, looking at a point past Glorfindel's shoulder so as to avoid his avid stare.

"Aye, Elrohir. It *is* very beautiful. I am not sure - I do not think - I am worthy of such a gift."

Elrond was dismayed to witness the change in Glorfindel. Though the signs were not obvious to all, it seemed as if the golden lord's spirit shriveled at those words. As the party took their seats Elrond could tell that Glorfindel only wanted to escape, to avoid looking upon the elf who had spurned his gift - and his love? Just what *did* the elf lord want from his counselor?

The meal seemed an anti-climax after that and despite the light-hearted talk initiated by Elrond and Celebrían, and the enthusiasm of the elflings, the atmosphere was devoid of the true joy of the day. Elrond noted that the wine he had ordered for the adults was mostly filling the glass of the Lord of Gondolin. That he was the gift-giver Elrond had no doubt. The Peredhel had recognized the work of a skilled artisan of Rivendell, and Glorfindel had surely sworn the elf to secrecy. The same vow would probably have been extracted from one of the housemaids, for it must have been one of them who had deposited the gift onto Erestor's setting. The household staff, ellith or ellyn, doted upon the golden lord, who was unfailingly courteous and charming to them.

Elrond focused first upon the seneschal, then the counsellor. This was no simple courtship. The bond that they had all felt was so bright, so intense that it had felt almost like.... Ai, it was like his own bond to Celebrían! The two lords were soulmates! The elflord felt Celebrían look at him in query at the slight gasp that escaped his lips - a gasp almost echoed when his unspoken thought sounded in her head. 

Elrond's discovery was valid, but the bond laid before them was not sound. This was a fractured union they had witnessed, a deliberate denial of the compulsion laid upon two souls by Eru to find and bind to one another. Just when their initial attraction had begun the lord did not know, but after his previous discussions with Erestor he suspected it was in Gondolin. Erestor had always claimed that he was from Lindon, a refugee from Nargothrond, but it was apparent that he had lied in that respect. And Glorfindel - it was obvious that he yearned for the raven-haired advisor. Suddenly all the mood swings, his nightmares and his dependency on miruvor became clear in light of the constant rejection by Erestor.

The seneschal and the counsellor had been mostly quiet during the meal and with the two boys so lively their silence was un-remarked. Lindir was the first to leave as the party began to break up but one glance at him told Elrond that the musician would be discreet. Elrond cast him a grateful glance in farewell. Erestor rose to leave too and was almost at the door when Elladan called to him.

"Uncle Erestor, you forgot your gift!"

The counselor stopped, not looking back but casting a doleful glance at the floor. 

"I did not forget, pen-neth, but it is not an item I can accept at this time. Perhaps you would look after it for me?" He glided from the room, and a puzzled but pleased elfling danced delightedly with the horse in his arms.

"Come on, Elrohir! We can play in the garden with Hirnîn!" The boys dashed into the open garden and Celebrían hurried after them, casting an anxious glance back to her husband and the glowering Glorfindel. The golden lord had leaned against a pillar, one hand covering his eyes, the other clenching and releasing in tight emotion by his side.

"Glorfindel..." Elrond began softly. The large elf stood straight, uncovering his face to reveal sorrow and anger in his expression.

"I gave him Hirnîn, Elrond!" he cried, anguish apparent in the ache in his voice. Elrond nodded in confusion. 

"Aye, Glorfindel, it was a beautiful statue..."

The golden lord slammed his fist against the pillar, the force of his frustration cracking the plaster. 

"No! Not the statue, nor the horse out in the stable! I gave him Hirnîn, the horse running so free upon the canvas in his office! It was my gift to him for his forty-eighth begetting day..." A sob broke from his chest, the torture of the past few hours finally releasing in anguish, as a cry from a heart ragged beyond endurance.

Elrond stared, hardly believing that his suspicions were confirmed, confused and stricken with compassion for this desolate being dissolving before him. He reached out to take the weeping lord into his arms but Glorfindel broke free and sped from the room. Elrond followed in all haste, but the long strides of the re-born warrior left him behind. By the time Elrond had reached the courtyard Glorfindel had removed Asfaloth from his stall and was already mounting him to the disbelief of the watching elves who had been passing through the area.

"No, Glorfindel!" Elrond was desperate to stop the elf lord, for who knew what the distraught elf would do in this frame of mind?

Glorfindel turned the stallion, pure rage upon his face, determination set into his pose. 

"I can take no more, Elrond! My return has been nothing but torture to me. Well, the Valar can find another pawn for their game, for I will be played no more!"

Elrond blanched at the implication. 

"Where are you going?" 

The laugh which emanated from the golden lord chilled all who heard it, and dread filled the Peredhel. Glorfindel snarled his response.

"To Mandos! And if Námo will not take me - then to hell!"

And with a shout and a prompt spur of the fleet horse, Glorfindel galloped from the yard and from Imladris, leaving a frantic Elrond in static shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish :  
> Ada - daddy  
> Nana - mummy  
> pen-nyth - little ones  
> Adar - father  
> ellith - female elves  
> ellyn - male elves  
> Peredhel - half-elven (sing.)  
> Peredhil - Half-elven (pl. )


	11. Chapter 11

T.A. 149

The shock lasted only a moment. Though his mind was still whirling from the disclosures and actions of his seneschal, Elrond's experience as a warrior and commander did not let him linger. Across the crowd of stunned elves still in the courtyard he spotted the one he needed.

"Andrann! Take a patrol and find him. Whatever direction, however he protests - get him back here!"

The elleth nodded curtly and responded as Elrond knew she would. He did not wait to see his orders carried out. He could hear her directions as he hurried back in to the House and to the residential wing – the family wing. Erestor would not have gone to the library or his office, not after such an emotional event. No, he would have retreated into his little world, his sanctuary – his bolt hole. Erestor was ever like a frightened animal, a fox or a rabbit, dashing to safety whenever his emotional shell was prodded. He was one of the bravest and most skillful warriors Elrond had fought beside, yet he hid from his emotions as if they would kill him. As if they *had* killed him…

Elrond did not know the cause of Erestor's retreat. But he *did* know that if he could not break through that protective shell then another elf would suffer - and die a second time.

****

Erestor knew who was at the door. Knew from the pounding, knew from the voice. He did not want to answer. He wanted to shut the world out. He wanted to shut Elrond out. He wanted - needed - to keep Glorfindel out. He also knew that he would not be able to, not this time. Reluctantly he drew the bolt aside and allowed the Lord of Imladris entry to his chambers. Erestor decided to take the offensive.

"I have no wish to talk, Elrond. I will hear what you have to say, but my life is my own. I would like to be left alone." Elrond looked at Erestor shrewdly, and the dark counsellor felt a shiver run through him. The Peredhel was not to be assuaged easily. Finally his lord spoke.

"Very well, Erestor. You need not worry any longer. Glorfindel is gone. He will trouble you no more." Elrond turned as if to leave.

"Gone? Gone where?" It was not relief that swept through the advisor, but panic. His Glorfindel would not give him up that easily… But that was what he wanted, wasn't it? Suddenly he realised that he was no longer sure.

"Do you care? You never wanted him here. What is he to you - Erestor of Gondolin?"

Erestor gasped, stumbling back from his lord. He tried to evade the question, and Elrond's probing eyes. "He - he means nothing to me."

"But he once did, didn't he Erestor? He was everything to you. He was your betrothed. There was no mysterious elf to whom you spoke, no witness save yourself. Glorfindel told you of the balrogs, didn't he? As you escaped from Gondolin. As you climbed Cirith Thoronath. Just before he died."

Elrond was relentless. His power of mind and mastery of healing of both fëa and hröa pressed on Erestor, giving him no chance to collect his thoughts, marshal his defences. The advisor knew he was breaking under this assault and his mind and heart twisted and turned trying to escape the elf-lord's attack. He fell back onto his well-worn mantra, fully conscious of the fact that Elrond no longer believed him.

"I am Erestor of Lindon. I am -"

"Lying."

Erestor began to shake. Of course he was lying. He had lied for millennia, to others, to himself – to Glorfindel. Didn't Elrond realise that it was the only way to carry on? It was his only succour? His way of surviving? He had locked the memories away for so long and now they were pounding at the door in his mind, demanding release. Some had already leaked through, and the rest were awaiting him, an impending flood ready to drown him in their intensity. He knew that he would not survive that moment, not with his sanity intact. Not again.

"Where is he going?" he asked again, proud that his voice held none of the fear and concern which coursed through him.

Elrond shrugged. "I asked him but he wasn't sure. He said that if Námo didn't want him, he was sure Hell would give him a home."

Erestor gasped. What...? Where...? He wouldn't.... No... Glorfindel couldn't.... Alone? Alone again? Wha- what had he done? A cry. A fall. A death. Again. His fault. His fault... An icy heat crawled up his throat, catching his breath, forcing his pain to expel through his lungs in a hellish cry.

"No!" Erestor screamed. No.no.no.no. Notagainnotagainnotagain…..

He started to run for the door. "No! No I won't lose him again. NO!!"

Elrond grabbed the hysterical edhel in his arms, fighting to calm the struggling, weeping elf.

"Erestor, it's all right! Calm down!" The struggles increasing, the screams becoming hysterical, incoherent. "I've sent Andrann after him, Erestor! The warriors will bring him back!" The words did not penetrate and Elrond was fast losing his grip on Erestor. With a last frantic shake he forced the dark elf to look at him.

Erestor didn't see him, not really. He saw only flames and heard only screams. He saw sapphire eyes looking at him, pleading with him and he couldn't reach him, couldn't catch him. Always falling, always dying. The sapphire eyes accused and his heart shrivelled, understanding the reproach in that gaze. He had let him die. He had failed Glorfindel. And Ecthelion. And Turgon. And Rog. And Tawaron. And – oh, no, he could not think of them…Ai! Laindir and Galudirn....

He had failed everyone. He was failing them again.

Elrond dropped to the floor with the collapsing counsellor, not relinquishing his hold on the weeping elf. He knew that Erestor was finally reliving his memories, was finally admitting his past life - and it obviously filled him with terror. He held him tight, trying to calm the hysterical elf. Elrond had to connect to Erestor, had to try to bring him back from the brink of insanity. From the emotions and visions he was receiving Erestor saw nothing but flames...

"What can you see, Erestor? What happened to Glorfindel?"

Erestor curled tightly into himself, screwed his eyes shut in the hope that the visions would stop. "I – I don't want to...I can't ...! Please, make them stop!"

"I can't, Erestor. Only you can do that." Urged Elrond, stroking the soft black hair. "Talk to me, tell me and together we can break you free."

Erestor leaned into Elrond's touch, remembering another hand stroking him, holding him.

"I loved him. I loved him. I killed him, I killed him, I killed him..."

"No!" Elrond said sharply, desperate to prevent Erestor retreating down a dark path, the path to insanity. "Focus, Erestor. Tell me what happened!"

Erestor breathed deeply, eyes still staring into his past, into his nightmare. Every moment was etched on his brain and now that he had released the lock on his memories they were flowing easily, vividly. "He reached for me, and I didn't move, I didn't take his hand. I - I let him fall." Yes, it was his fault – he had killed Glorfindel.

"How far away was he, Erestor? Could you actually reach him?"

Erestor wasn't expecting that. It took him a moment to understand the question. He knew the answer but to say it would be too honest, too truthful.

"I - I don't know... It is hard to say..."

Elrond did not let it pass. "Think, Erestor. Tell me the truth. Could you have caught him?" Erestor did not answer. "Now, Erestor. Tell me now."

A cry burst from Erestor's throat. "I can't say it! I can't - admit it!"

Elrond gave Erestor a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

"You were too far away, weren't you, Erestor? There was no way you could have caught him in time. It wasn't your fault he fell, Erestor."

Erestor began to shake, turning his head in denial. No, he *had* killed his love! He had cried out, and Glorfindel had turned, and he had fallen. It was his fault. He had known that for years, for centuries. For three hundred centuries. Of course it was his fault, couldn't Elrond see that?

"I'm sorry, Glorfindel! I'm sorry, I'm sorry...!" he wept, clinging to the blame he had laid upon himself two Ages ago. "I should have learned, I should have gone to my lessons. I was vain, I was stupid. I thought I knew it all. I didn't want to learn. I'm sorry, Ecthelion! I can hear the hiss, the steam. I can't reach you either! It's my fault! It is all my fault!"

Elrond could hardly understand his friend, the words were blotted by the sobs, the strain in his voice. This elf, so wise and brave, so knowledgeable and learned, so gentle and kind - he sounded like an elfling pleading for forgiveness after a misdemeanour. A thought suddenly struck him.

"Erestor, how old were you when Gondolin fell? How old were you when Glorfindel died?"

The words penetrated the sorrow and Erestor looked up, his tear-stained face showing his profound grief.

"Forty-nine, Elrond. I was forty-nine..." I was a child, a silly, stupid, selfish child, thought Erestor. Why did he love me so? I didn't deserve him; he was my brave golden warrior, and I didn't deserve him.

The shock showed in Elrond's face. Elbereth, Erestor was only a child! And yet betrothed?

"Erestor, how was it that you were betrothed to Glorfindel? You were so young..."

Erestor shook his head, knowing what Elrond thought. "We were chaste. We were to wait for my Coming-of-Age. He pressed the ring on my finger as we prepared for battle. It was his pledge, his promise. He promised he would return...he promised…he promised…"

"Oh, Erestor," said Elrond, softly. "You were just a child and you have taken this blame - this erroneous blame - upon your shoulders for too long, mellon nîn. It wasn't your fault, dearest Erestor."

Erestor was not about to give up his self-blame, his self-disgust so easily. He knew that he was not worthy of his golden lord; not worthy of the praise heaped upon him by other elves - by Elrond. He was a fraud, a craven coward - a killer. He pulled himself from  
Elrond's arms, shuffled back across the floor, bent his head so that his raven hair formed his usual shielding shroud.

"Yes, it was my fault! And so was what happened later!"

Later? Yes, how did Erestor survive? "Later, Erestor? When? What happened after Glorfindel fell? Where did you go?"

Erestor lifted his head, his eyes dark with despair. He looked terrified. He stared at Elrond as if he didn't understand the question. He was looking back through the ages, seeing only death and destruction.

"Where did I go?" he whispered finally. His hands were constantly clasping each other, constantly wringing in pent up emotion. "Into darkness. Into madness. They wouldn't leave me. I was raving, a madman – yet they wouldn't leave me…"

Elrond's heart wept for him, yet he knew that they weren't finished. He guessed that Erestor was talking about his family but he had intimated that there was worse to come, more deaths that he lay at his own feet.

"Your family? They would not leave you?" Erestor nodded, not seeing Elrond, seeing only the past.

"Mirieth. Díwen. Aradol. My family. Brôglon died. One of Mirieth's sons had died. Aradol didn't. They looked after me, so I learned later. I couldn't move, couldn't react. I either screamed or sat in stupor. Tuor had to go, take Eärendil, Idril, others to safety. To the Mouths of Sirion. My family stayed. Four of the guard of the Golden Flower – they wouldn't leave me. I killed them! I killed them!" The crying, the frantic weeping started once more. Elrond pressed further, forcing Erestor to focus on him again.

"Who died, Erestor? Your family? Not all, for I have met them."

"I raved. Orcs came. I brought them. I betrayed them. More deaths. The guards…Laindir and Galudirn.... not all, but each is a stain on my soul…"

Elrond could only hold the sobbing advisor closer, tighter. The horror that the child Erestor had faced, the losses. Glorfindel. Ecthelion. His home. His heart and his soul. His sanity. How on earth had Erestor managed to survive? By retreating behind his façade, his mask. He had concentrated on building a new life to replace the old one, the one he had hidden in the recesses of his mind, and Glorfindel's return had cracked that mask. Had blown it wide open. Oh Andrann, find him, otherwise I will lose both of them. Erestor, as strong in character and mind as he was, would not survive a second death.

Erestor lifted his head. "Let me go, Elrond. Let me go find him, please? I can find him, I know I can!"

Elrond looked closely at him. "And what would you say, Erestor? Would you tell him of your love? Would you give yourself to him as his betrothed?"

The retreat Elrond saw in Erestor's eyes told him that this would not be so. Erestor did not feel worthy, did not believe he deserved the golden lord's love. The self-recrimination had been brought into the light of day, but Erestor was not yet ready to let it go. Not ready to forgive himself.

Erestor, knowing what Elrond was trying to show him, drooped his head in defeat.

"Save him, Elrond. Save him from himself. He is too good to be lost to this world again. Save him for Imladris, for Middle Earth. The world needs him, my lord."

"And you do not?"

Erestor shook his head. Yes, he needed him. But he had forfeited all rights to him by his acts on that morning of Tarnin Austa, three thousand years ago.

"Well, he needs you, Erestor. Stop being so selfish."

Erestor's head shot up in surprise. He was not being selfish! He was being totally unselfish!

Elrond knew Erestor's thoughts, and berated his friend again.

"He came back for you, meldir. He came back to love you and you have rejected him at every turn. He needs you, Erestor. If he dies now, then yes, it will be your fault. You say that you don't want to lose him again. Well, prove it. Talk to him. Tell him what you have told me. Open yourself to him. He loves you, Erestor - and you love him. Let that love heal you both."

It was too much. Elrond was offering him hope, and he could not take it. Millennia of self-denial, self-flagellation would not let him. His voice was a whisper.

"How can I ask him to forgive me, Elrond? How *can* he forgive me?"

Elrond reached out his hand to touch Erestor's face. "I do not think that he believes that there is anything to forgive, Erestor. He loves you. He will give you forgiveness if you ask it, but he sees no wrong in you, save the wrong you have dealt him in your denial of these past few months." He paused, wondering if Erestor would truly register his next words. "There is only one elf that demands that you beg for forgiveness. You. Yourself. You must forgive yourself first, Erestor. For it is only your guilt of survival that holds you back from the completion of your souls. Forgive yourself, and you will find your happiness in his arms."

The Peredhel saw that Erestor was trying to take in these words, and he hoped that it would be the start of healing. The elf before him was exhausted, both from the emotional outpouring they had just experienced and from the pressures of the months since Glorfindel's arrival. His body needed rest just as much as his mind. There was no way that Elrond could let him go after Glorfindel. He would risk losing them both that way.

Elrond raised himself from the floor, and bent to lift the fallen elf. "Come, you must rest. You are weary from the trauma of your memories. Rest and sleep, Erestor. Take comfort in knowing that when he returns you will talk to him, hold him, love him again. Happiness is within your grasp, Erestor. Take this chance whilst you can."

Erestor shook his head, yet let himself be guided by his friend. "What if he returns whilst I sleep? I cannot sleep if I do not know that he is safe. I should go to him. Please let me go to him?"

"I will give you rest through my healing touch, Erestor. I will watch for him and bring him to you if he returns before you wake. I promise."

A pledge. A promise. Elrond led Erestor into his bedchamber and laid him upon his coverlet. Elrond reached his hands to Erestor but the counselor forestalled him.

"Elrond, please? The box upon the dresser - please, may I have it?"

Elrond looked and saw a small dark wood box, lightly carved in elvish designs, which lay upon the dressing table. He carried it over to Erestor, who took it into his arms and curled round it. Laying his hands upon Erestor's forehead, Elrond concentrated, sending waves of healing, calming energy through his fingers. Erestor took a deep breath and his eyes began to glaze in reverie.

"My Glo'fin'l," he whispered and, as Elrond quietly exited the chamber, Erestor's rose-red lips curved into a sweet smile.

*****

The hours dragged on and Elrond was beginning to despair. Andrann had obviously sent out more than one patrol in search for her lord and now they were beginning to return, to straggle in from every direction. The golden lord had not been found. Elrond began to fear the worst, and yet – his inborn foresight had not spoken to him of tragedy. He had been sure that Glorfindel *would* return. Now he thought of that elf in the black robes of mourning, a mourning he had carried for millennia. He would never survive another loss.

The preparations for Tarnin Austa carried on around him. Celebrían had taken on much of the workload to spare him to the search and to his care of Erestor. Erestor had not yet woken but with each hour that passed the moment drew near. If Glorfindel was not at his side when he opened his eyes in hope… Elrond looked up at the sky. Dusk was nigh upon them, and only Andrann remained on search. She was a tenacious elleth, she would not admit defeat of a task laid upon her.

Just as Elrond turned to go back into the house from his position on the portico there was a shout from the gates. Turning, his heart leapt when he saw the gleaming white coat of Asfaloth, and on his back the golden lord. Directly behind him was Andrann, and Elrond beamed at the captain in delight. Glorfindel was quick to dismount and Elrond stepped forward with open arms. Glorfindel bowed, hand over heart in salute.

"My Lord, I am sorry that I caused you such turmoil and grief. I am returned but I ask of you, do not ask me yet why I return. There is another to whom I must speak first."

Elrond smiled gently. "He is in his chambers, Glorfindel. He has opened his heart to me, and – he awaits you." He moved his hand to beckon the seneschal to go into the house and be reunited with his betrothed. Glorfindel shook his head.

"The time will come, Elrond - but not this night. The vigil of Tarnin Austa is upon us, within the hour, I suspect." He squinted at the failing sun. "I must groom Asfaloth and then I must prepare myself. There will be plenty of time to talk to him on the morrow. I would not rush the words I must speak to him." Glorfindel turned to lead the stallion to the stables, but Elrond spoke once more.

"Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel turned his head to look at the Lord of Imladris.

"Glorfindel, do you still love him? For he loves you – dearly."

The golden lord looked down at the cobbles of the yard, as if pondering the question. When he raised his head his eyes were glistening, and the smile was imbued with love – and regret.

"Always, Elrond. Deeply, and for always. However there have been – developments - of which I cannot yet speak. I must hurry else I will be tardy. Please reassure him for me, Elrond. I *will* tell him all, I promise." And with that he retreated to the stables.

Elrond was puzzled but knew that he had to be satisfied – for the moment. He turned with gratitude to the awaiting captain.

"You are very conscientious, dearest Andrann. My gratitude knows no bounds at this moment. I owe you much."

The elleth bowed but stated, "It was none of my doing, my lord. I, and my warriors, searched almost every corner of the realm without success. I too was beginning to despair when I spotted the seneschal on the road. He was returning of his own volition. He was  
coming home, my lord."

*****

The household of Elrond Peredhel had gathered on the east facing terraces of Imladris, awaiting the setting of the sun. Elrond stood with his wife and children, and with his chief counsellor at his side, leading the vigil. Erestor had been awake when Elrond had returned to his chambers. The dark elf was upset to learn that Glorfindel had returned and yet had not agreed to come with Elrond. It took all of Elrond's persuasion to encourage the advisor and to bring him to the point of standing here, beside him, on this momentous occasion. The memories would hit hard tonight especially and Elrond wanted Erestor within arms length.

The crowds parted with the arrival of the seneschal, in awe at his presence - for he glowed. He was arrayed in the finest of clothing and bore the symbol of the Golden Flower upon his blue silk doublet. His in-born light as one of the Firstborn was enhanced, magnified as his face shone with the light that is only seen in those who have dwelt in Aman, within the graces of the Valar. He was a great and powerful Elf-Lord, who could exist in both the physical and spiritual realms. He could face, had faced, the forces of evil; could and had overcome them and sent them to the hells preserved for evil incarnate. He was Glorfindel, the vessel of the Gods. And he was at peace. He smiled beatifically at those who greeted him and came to stop before his lord and lady, bowing in graceful salutations. The twin boys stood and gazed at him in jaw-dropping awe, so magnificent was this friend, this playmate. Another gentle smile, then Glorfindel took his place, standing firmly beside Erestor. The sweetest smile was reserved for the dark elf and the small hand was taken within the large, calloused fingers and gently squeezed. In the dying light of the red sun, just before the silence was imposed upon them, that deep voice spoke softly to the trembling advisor.

"Be at peace, Erestor. Know that I have returned to you – to you all."

Long was the night, and soothing was the music played by Lindir and the minstrels. Small eyes soon shut in gentle sleep and the twins were carried to their room by their loving parents. Elrond and Celebrían quickly rejoined the assembled elves to await the coming dawn.

Lindir's voice soared in praise as the first rays of summer crept over the opposing ridge of the ravine, casting a golden glow over the inhabitants of Imladris. The glow intensified as Glorfindel raised his arms in greeting to the sun, his deep tones joining the song and acting as counterpoint to Lindir's tenor. They sang the song of the morn. Joy, pain, sweetness and sorrow rolled forth from him as he sang and in his light the gathered elves sensed the presence of the past. He sang of his home, his people, and history lived in his chorus. The warriors of Gondolin were personified in his hymn. Their blessings and the blessings of the Valar washed over the household of the refuge of Rivendell and only as the song drew to a close did Glorfindel's arms lower and his aura diminish. The Golden Lord still shone in the morning rays, his golden mane reflecting the brilliance of Anor.

In awe and respect the elves of Imladris withdrew from the terraces, un-noticed by the Lord of Gondolin. Elrond hastened the exodus, leading the elves to the celebratory breaking of the fast within the Dining Hall. He turned one last time to see the two elves left on the promenade, sable and gold, and prayed that Erestor would have the courage to cast aside his doubts and embrace his future – and welcome his love.

Erestor stood in silence, hoping and dreading the conversation that would surely ensue. His heart had swelled with Glorfindel's song and never could he remember his lord enrobed in such splendour. He braced himself to face his fears, leaning heavily on the memory of Elrond's encouraging words.

The Lord of the Golden Flower spoke first, still facing the rising sun.

"It should have been ‘Thel. Though Lindir sang well, I still expected to hear our friend."

Erestor's courage failed him. In his haste to retreat he stumbled over his words.

"I believe – from records that – that the Lord Ecthelion had a fine voice –"

"No." The interrupting voice was soft but firm. Glorfindel turned to face Erestor, gentle reproof in his eyes. He shook his head in negation of Erestor's poor response. "No, Erestor. Deny me. Deny our love. Deny yourself. But do not deny our friend. For when you do so, you dishonour the memory of all those who died that day. Duilin, Rog, Galdor. Even Salgant. And Turgon, who took you into his council. And Ecthelion, who loved you as a brother. Who held you as a child and taught you as a youth. And who championed your love. Our love. If you choose not to declare your prayers openly, so be it. Whisper them in your mind. Call them unheard into the roar of the cascades. Cast them upon the wind so only Námo can catch them. Just say them, to honour the souls of our friends."

Glorfindel reached out suddenly to clasp both Erestor's hands, causing the advisor to flinch. He held them both between them, caressing the soft dorsum with his calloused thumbs. He tightened his grip when Erestor tried to pull away, allowing him no flight.

"Nay, pen-neth. Hold. Listen to what I have to say, for I can and will only say this once, then I will give you peace." He looked directly into the chocolate-brown eyes, noting well the wariness of the other elf. He smiled reassuringly.

"Never try to bargain with the Valar, pen-vuin. They do not welcome a challenge to their authority and they will twist and turn any agreement to their own design. I tried, and am paying for it dearly. For I asked for you, Erestor. When the essences of the Valar called me forth from my reflections to inform me of my incipient rebirth, I placed a price upon my consent. That I would be free to find you, my love. I would only serve Elrond, I would only protect Imladris, I would only fulfil my doom if you were at my side." He smiled ruefully, releasing one hand so that he could raise his own to cup the dark elf's downy cheek. Erestor stood still, not wanting to lose the touch yet still restrained by his reserve from revelling in the sweet embrace. Glorfindel's words, his odd intent, frightened him. This was not the way he had envisioned this discussion and it boded ill, he felt.

"Manwë has a very odd sense of humour," Glorfindel continued. "He has honoured the bargain – in a fashion. I have my love beside me – but I do not have his *love*." The words stung sharper than a needle, and Erestor opened his mouth to speak, to protest that it was not so. Glorfindel laid two fingers upon his open lips.

"Hush again, my sweet. Only a little longer. Only a little more." He tenderly stroked the rose-red lips, following their soft outline, tracing the path with him sapphire eyes. He ignored the excited breath which escaped from between them.

"Do you remember our dream, Erestor? Do you remember the clarity, the reality of it? The only time we ever made love, and it was a dream. I thought at one time that it was a generous gift from Irmo, to sustain me through the centuries of loneliness in the Halls of Waiting. They are grey, my love. Did you know that? Grey and quiet and peaceful. We don't interact much, we doomed souls. There is no talk as such, no laughter. It is a place of reflection, of learning; of realising the mistakes and faults of our first life so that we will not repeat them in the second. Emotions are tamed, muted, so that the reflection is controlled and considered. Except for that dream. It did not lose its passion; nor the sweet longing; nor the sensation of fierce pounding of flesh upon flesh. I dwelt long on that dream." His face became bleak, haunted, and Erestor wept inwardly, knowing that he had caused the pain his golden lord was feeling. "The past few months, I have been dreading the repetition of that dream, for it has brought only pain. It is a reminder that what hope I had is gone, as are you."

Glorfindel glanced away for a moment, blinking back the moisture pricking his eyes. The gesture was if the needle had been replaced by a knife, which now twisted in Erestor's chest. Glorfindel turned back to Erestor, his head shaking in self-reproof.

"I shake my head at my arrogance, Erestor. My sheer arrogance, that I thought that I could be reborn and walk into Imladris and find you – and expect us to pick up from where we left off. I never thought… I never thought…When I died you were so young, so innocent – and all mine. I had moulded you, loved you, and the pattern of you life was set by my love. You had not lived. You had nothing, nobody to compare me with. And then I died. We are the same age now, you and I. Despite my so-called ‘spiritual growth', I am actually only a little older than when I died but you – you have lived. Oh yes, without even knowing the particulars, I know that you have lived a full and varied life. The battles you have fought. The kings and lords that you have served. The history you have witnessed. I can see now that you no longer are my Erestor. My Erestor died too, on Cirith Thoronath. I never asked, I never thought of what you must have gone through after my death, my love. Whether you experienced the same pain, the same desperate removal of our love. I am sorry, Erestor."

Erestor was overwhelmed by Glorfindel's words. They were no comfort to him, for he could feel with each phrase, each syllable that he was losing his lord again. Something had happened to Glorfindel in one short afternoon, and Erestor had lost him once more.  
Glorfindel heard the hitch in Erestor's breath, the sob in his throat.

"Oh don't cry my love, don't weep! All will be well, I promise! That is what I am trying to tell you. I rode out yesterday, an angry and frightened and lonely elf. I yearned for you, but the pain of your rejections had broken me. This last, the rejection of your begetting day, was the final stroke. The day had always been so special to us. I gave you Hirnîn, three thousand years ago, and again yesterday. The first you accepted with delight, the second… It hurt, Erestor. It was at that moment that I knew I could take no more. There was no point in my being here, for I was too heartsick to take up fully the role for which I had been reborn. Life had no meaning without you. Lonely, tragic, drunk. Being driven insane by nightmares of my death…"

He shook his head in amazement of the depths to which he had sunk. He barely registered the tears that were now flowing freely down Erestor's face.

"I rode to the highest cliffs I could find. I stood on the edge, seeing not the jagged rocks onto which I would fall but only blessed relief. The grey Halls were so tempting, so welcome. I turned so that my back was to the edge. I wanted the wind to push me, to blow me over just as the balrogs had taken me. I could then picture you watching me, and though I knew I caused you severe pain, I could pretend that you still loved me, still need my love. But the Valar would not let me fall. I hung there as they opened my eyes. I saw Middle Earth, Erestor. It is so beautiful. They showed me that the world glows with the intent of the Song of Ilúvatár. Purple mountain ranges; green meadows; the smallest bird; the greatest bear. A lion and her cubs; a sheep and her lambs. The long lives of our kin; the short lives of Men; the work wrought by the Children of Aüle, miraculous in its design. Beauty, personified in the living creatures that walk upon the world. Yet all could fall. All could fail. Sauron is diminished but not defeated and he *will* rise again. So much in this world teaming with life could be dragged into darkness and the depths of his hells. And I knew that I could not let this happen, for the most beautiful thing that the Valar showed me was you, ind nîn."

He leant forward, brushing the errant tears from the advisor's face with his hands; cupping that sweet head. Erestor cried without restraint, finally letting his aching heart bleed for his erstwhile lover.

"I have made my peace with the Valar, Erestor. I have finally determined to do what I was sent to do, and they have calmed my soul. They drew me back from the cliff edge and gave me purpose. There is a darkness coming, Erestor, one that will sweep all Middle Earth and it will be soon. I have been sent to protect Middle Earth and to aid the Line of Eärendil. I will serve Elrond. I will serve Imladris, serve Elvendom and in turn all the children of Ilúvatár. I have a task to perform and a role to play. To do this I must apply myself and not be torn apart by my personal desires. So I have laid them aside. In accepting my burden the Valar have given me the strength to bear it.

"I shall return you to your solitude, mellon nîn. No longer will I pursue or harass you. You are free of my importunities, Erestor of Lindon. I cannot say that I will stop loving you. A true heart cannot change when it finds circumstances different to those it has hoped for. I hoped for your love and I have found different. So be it. The love is still there whether you want it or not. And yesterday… The eve of Tarnin Austa will still hold a strong place within me, and may escape at times but – no matter. I will not hurt you anymore.

"As you have renounced our past, now so do I. As of this moment I am no longer Glorfindel of Gondolin. Gondolin has fallen and the House of the Golden Flower is no more. I am simply Glorfindel, seneschal of Imladris, protector of the House of Elrond."

He took a step back, releasing all holds upon the distraught advisor. He placed his hand upon his heart in formal salute.

"Mae govannen, Erestor of Lindon. I am Glorfindel of Rivendell. I greet you as a fellow servant in this house and as a comrade-in-arms. May we work in peace and harmony in our common fight against the darkness."

With that, Glorfindel of Rivendell turned and walked away, resignation and resolve in his reborn heart, leaving the weeping Erestor alone upon the deserted terrace.

Erestor fell to his knees, realising in his pain what his actions had brought upon him. He had spurned his love, he had dallied in acknowledging the faithful heart of the golden lord. He had wasted his second chance at happiness. Glorfindel was now a vessel of the Valar and available to him no more. He had lost him.

Erestor acted upon Glorfindel's advice but instead of praying, he cried his agony into the thunderous noise of the cascades, and sent his despair into the gusting wind, in the vain hope that Námo would hear him.

And forgive him for his terrible, dreadful mistake.

*****


	12. Chapter 12

T.A. 150 – onwards

The elf refuge of Imladris had always been a blessed place, empowered by its lord - a descendant of kings, a healer, and one wise and deeply woven into the magics of Middle Earth. In his care Elrond held the elven ring Vilya, one of the rings of power, and he used that power to protect and promote his realm. Now Imladris was doubly blessed.

Glorfindel had returned from Valinor. His original arrival had brought a tortured, tormented, rejected soul full of anger and grief and pain. No more was that elf thought of; that return remembered. The reborn lord had been re-born anew on that morning of Tarnin Austa, and he was a different creature entirely. He was now filled with light and he exuded grace. His laughter was heard always in merriment and never in cruelty or self-deprecation. He eschewed the excesses of his first return and instead only partook of wine to enhance a meal or celebrate a happy moment - never to drown in dismay. He shone with the grace of Valinor and was filled with the blessings of the Valar. Now he was truly loved by all the inhabitants of the elven haven, who partook of his grace. His star waxed - yet Erestor's waned.

Elrond felt for his dark counsellor. On the morning of that traumatic deposition he had felt that Erestor had started to break free of his self-loathing and had begun to hope for redemption. Glorfindel's return and the golden lord's avowal to hold true to the Valar's tasks had slammed that hope into the ground, had cut off the counsellor from the love he had realised he needed. From the previous torment of the golden lord, now there was complete reversal and it was Erestor who was suffering. Elrond had tried to console his old friend but his inquiries were rebuffed by a patently fading elf. Always Erestor had been quiet, always reserved but now he became a recluse, withdrawn, paler - if possible - and thin. He was wrapped in a cloak of despair. He would not respond to the elf-lord.

"I am well, Elrond," the dark elf had said after another impassioned plea from the Peredhel. "I have nothing else to say."

Elrond had grieved to see the Noldo so gaunt within his trappings of black. Always Erestor had favoured this non-colour, the colour of mourning, and never had Elrond seen him otherwise. Now for the first time it endowed less of the refined dignity it had been before, enhancing the darkling beauty of Erestor's sculpted features. It had now become a shroud, a covering for the living dead. Elrond's heart was fit to burst in pain for his long-time confidante.

"Always we have stood side-by-side, in joy and in sorrow, and if you have kept to yourself trials that pain you, I have accepted your judgement and reserve. But I can take this no longer! It has been months since Glorfindel returned, recovered in body and spirit, and yet you ail still. What has happened between you, Erestor? Why are you not reunited? No word have I heard from either of you, save a brief notification by Glorfindel that 'All is resolved and I have returned to take up my duties'. I think I deserve more of an explanation than that!"

Erestor had shaken his head, drawing his robe tighter around his frail frame. Elrond now remembered how his chocolate-brown eyes had seemed haunted as he spoke.

"I am Erestor of Lindon. Glorfindel has accepted that now. I have prevailed." His voice had quavered. "I am Erestor of Lindon - and may the Valar have mercy on me…"

In a reverse to his relationship with Erestor, Elrond was now becoming closer to his seneschal. Glorfindel's new approach to life touched all who knew him and they felt the special grace of the twice-born elf. Though his grace had not diminished since the Gates of Summer, he now promoted a very comforting presence, less awe-inspiring and more approachable. He was still adored by his troops but they knew that he could still press upon them to work harder, to improve and they felt his tongue if he was dissatisfied with their work. He was no god, and he was not infallible. He was Glorfindel of Rivendell.

Now Elrond approached Glorfindel with his fear for Erestor. Glorfindel nodded in agreement of Elrond's assessment.

"Aye, I have seen it too and am of the same mind. I did not wish to cause such a reaction to my re-birth. It seems I am the cause and I thus must rectify the matter. I will talk to him."

"Please do, Glorfindel, for he will not listen to me." Elrond paused, as if he was trying to determine how to proceed. Finally he spoke. "My friend, although I am thrilled that you are well again, it is as I have said. Erestor is not. He has been fading since your return on the morning of Tarnin Austa, since your talk on the east terraces. I had such high hopes on that morning, that the two elves who have become so dear to me might at last be reunited in the love which is so apparent. That Erestor finally spoke to me of his grief, his torment, his deep love for you… Why did you reject him, Glorfindel? Why did you turn aside that for which you had so longed? Why did you hurt him, my lord?"

Glorfindel shook his head, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I did not mean to wound him so, Elrond. I wished only to give him the peace he seemed to need. I had no way of knowing that he had opened his heart to you. If he had been able to do that earlier, then my soul would have soared and my heart rejoiced. I love him with every fibre of my being. I want him and need him every minute of every day. Every sway, every motion of his raven locks is like a sweep across my brow, every pen stroke he makes is a touch on my flesh. I yearn for him – yet that day I forswore my right to him, until I have completed the job I was sent to do."

Elrond cried out in frustration. "They cannot ask this of you, Glorfindel! They cannot demand Erestor's life for yours! How can the Valar deny that which Ilúvatár has placed upon you – your divided souls crying out to be united?"

The golden lord waved his hand in annoyance, knowing that Elrond did not understand.

"And how many times can I defy the Valar and break an oath? I denied Manwë's edict and rebelled, leaving Aman to follow Turgon and Fëanor in their defiant refusal of His wishes. I broke my sworn oath to Turgon when I kissed Erestor in love and need before the battle in Gondolin. I ran from the duty I had accepted when I stood on the cliff face and prayed for my second death. And now I have sworn to address my attention and focus upon my task, to protect you, Imladris and Middle Earth!" He checked himself, realising that his voice had become raised in a tirade against his lord. "Aye, I love him, my lord. I will talk to him, try to make him understand that I do not reject his love but must yet defer the time of our union. I long for that time, Elrond, with all of my heart."

And talk to Erestor he did, though none knew the nature of their discussion. Shortly thereafter it was noted at mealtimes that small plates of treats would be found near the advisor's place, or that a dish of strawberries or a plate of cookies would be brought to the office next to the library. Elrond knew who had done this and was heartened to see that Erestor looked less thin and worn. He thanked Glorfindel.

"I know you love him, Elrond. So do I. I wish him naught but well," Glorfindel said, but did not elaborate on his methods.

It was through this newfound friendship with Rivendell's lord that Glorfindel found the cause of Erestor's flight from the training grounds so long ago. Glorfindel had always preferred to bathe alone in the comfort of his room, as he was aware of the network of fine scars upon his body and the sheen that was peculiar to them. He did not wish to be the constant topic of conversation in this regard so he also refrained from sparring bare-chested as so many warriors preferred. He was always reminded of the effect the sight of his scars had upon his love on that ill-fated morning.

On this day however a fault had occurred in the plumbing to his bathing chamber, so he had been forced to go forth to the public baths within the grounds of the House. The baths were utilised by most of the elves residing in Imladris, for only a fortunate few had access to private bathing facilities. They were also popular as a recreational activity, when ellyn and ellith could relax and talk and bathe together. As well as the main pools there were smaller rooms, which catered to groups of two or three. All the baths were well-stocked and well-maintained by the dedicated staff, and were somewhat luxurious in their appointments.

It was very early in the morning when Glorfindel made his way to the baths. The tree-lined paths were deserted and he had hoped that he would be able to bathe alone, so he was disappointed to see that another ellon had arrived just before him. His chagrin was assuaged when he realised that the ellon was Lord Elrond. The dark-haired elf smiled in greeting.

"Maer aur, Glorfindel. You are an uncommon sight here."

Glorfindel bent his head in greeting, smiling in response. "It is hard to get clean when the bath is filled with cold, dirty water from my previous ablutions – my own will not empty. Saelbeth is to have it repaired but until then I have been forced to bathe elsewhere. And you?"

Elrond grinned, his eyes twinkling with a hidden joke. "Ai, my wife took a very long, very perfumed bath yester eve, and the stench still permeates the chamber. I have an early morning meeting with men from Gondor and they see elves as strange enough. I have no wish to add to their store of fanciful legends regarding our race!"

Glorfindel laughed heartily, enjoying the vision the description brought forth. Glorfindel now took part in many councils within Elrond's office but fortunately trade agreements did not fall within his purview. Elrond led the way to a private pool and started to disrobe.

" Shall we bathe together, mellon nîn? I find company and conversation a most enjoyable way to start the day." Elrond's request was nothing out of the ordinary and Glorfindel knew that if there were any he could trust with regard to his scars it was Elrond. He agreed willingly.

When Glorfindel began to disrobe he was aware of the lord's eyes upon him, and he was grateful that Elrond made no comment on the silver marks adorning his strong frame. However, when he turned to place his clothes upon the pine bench beside the pool he was disconcerted to hear Elrond's sharp intake of breath. He spun round quickly, and was startled to see tears in the elf lord's eyes and a look of pity upon his face.

"What? What is wrong, meldir?"

Elrond shook his head in disbelief, and the tremor of deep emotion was evident in his voice.

"Ai, dear friend – the scars…"

Glorfindel was nonplussed. Yes, they were extensive, he knew. He was a warrior who had fought for survival after the desperate Crossing, who had faced Melkor's hordes numerous times up to, and including, his death. He did not think that a fellow warrior such as Elrond would flinch from a few silver marks. So what was marked on his back that repelled the Peredhel so? He was almost afraid to ask, and reluctant to know – yet he must know, for was this not why his beloved had run from him all those months ago?

"Are the scars not the same as on my front, Elrond? What – what are they that you would shed tears for me…?" he asked in trepidation. Elrond shook his head again, trying to formulate the words, trying to articulate the syllables that could possibly describe those terrible wounds. He came to a decision, and moved to stand behind his friend. His hand lifted to touch Glorfindel's back.

"May I? They do not - hurt?" he asked gently. Glorfindel shook his head and shivered as he felt Elrond hesitate before placing his spread fingers on the skin at the nape of his neck. Slowly, he began to move them, caressing the rough skin there.

"They look like claw marks, a vicious tear down from the base of your neck to mid-spine. They are black, burnt and charred. The black is not dull, but shines with a darkness, a gleam, as if they still throb." He moved his hand to Glorfindel's right shoulder, this time placing three fingers at the start of this new scar.

"This one," Elrond sobbed, "is a vivid red, dark as blood yet glowing as if it is a chasm in the earth, open to show the living fire within. Its edges too are black and burnt. They hold the chasm open, preventing any possibility of healing."

His fingers had traced a wide path from right shoulder across the scapula, down the spine and ending in the soft flesh of the left buttock. Elrond removed his fingers, stinging with an inherent cold that had emanated from the brutal wound. He clenched his hand tight, both to revitalise the circulation which had frozen therein, and in deep distress for his friend. These were not wounds such as he could heal. These were the work of evil and the Valar had chosen to retain them, for whatever reason. Glorfindel had not moved, was too shocked to move, and now Elrond circled to face his friend again.

"Glorfindel, I do not think – I have no power…"

Glorfindel knew what Elrond was trying to say, what he could not say – that these inflammations would have to be borne without succour. He smiled faintly.

"At least they do not hurt," he said simply. At these gentle words Elrond's tears began to fall in compassion for the brave elf. He took Glorfindel into his embrace as the golden lord finally broke. Heavy sobs wracked the giant frame and broken words spilled forth in grief. There were not for himself, but for another. And though it was not stated, Elrond knew for whom the gentle lord cried.

"Oh, that he saw them… The pain he must feel – the memories they must invoke… He ran from them… He ran from *me*!"

Murmuring soothing words Elrond waited until Glorfindel wept no more. He asked no questions, but completed their disrobing and guided the seneschal to the sunken tub. In silence, a gentle quiet, he assisted Glorfindel through his bath, washing his hair, cleansing his skin. He stroked the washcloth over the dreadful marks, an act of reverence for the sacrifice the Lord of Gondolin had made, three thousand years ago. Once dry and clothed again, Glorfindel faced Elrond.

"My lord, I ask of you – please tell no one of what you saw today. I do not want pity from my friends, nor gawking elves who still look on me as a curious historical aberration. And I ask – I request –" he broke off, anguished eyes pleading with Elrond for understanding. "Please, do not tell Erestor. Please. I will talk to him, I will help him…"

Elrond nodded, placing a reassuring hand on the seneschal's arm. "He will not hear it from me, mellon nîn. Nor will anyone else, in this realm or any other."

Glorfindel smiled briefly in thanks. "Another boon, my lord. My duties today – I do not know if I can undertake them, if I can concentrate…"

Once again Elrond nodded in agreement. "You will be missed, my friend, but Andrann will manage. Go and rest. Perhaps take one of your potions to help you sleep?"

As Glorfindel left the chamber Elrond hoped that the potion would be all that the golden lord would take. He hoped indeed that Glorfindel would not return to his former source of comfort and forgetfulness. Yet he did not have much faith in this hope.

Elrond's hope was not realised. No one saw Glorfindel again that day, and there was no answer from his locked chambers. Elrond wondered if he had lost the reformed lord and was witnessing a return to the wretched elf of a year past. He made no comment but he saw a worried look in Erestor's eyes when he mentioned that Glorfindel would not be joining them for their morning briefing.

"Lord Glorfindel is unwell?"

"Yes," said Elrond softly. "He learned of something… He is not well."

Elrond heard later that day that his advisor had been seen hovering in the shadows near Glorfindel's chamber.

 

****

 

The middle of the night was some hours behind them when Erestor heard a noise outside his room. He had changed earlier into sleeping trousers but he had not retired to bed. Instead he had curled into a comfortable chair in his living room, a rug draped across his knees. An open book was testimony to his intentions but unseeing eyes had stared at the same page for hours, the mind wandering elsewhere.

On hearing the noise outside his chamber Erestor tensed, though in the safe haven of Elrond's home he knew not why. In the silence following he thought that he had been mistaken, and was starting to relax when there came a thud, as if a great weight had fallen. Casting aside both book and rug he crossed to the door, undid the lock and flung the door open. No one was before him, but he gasped as he saw the crumpled form to the left of the doorframe, huddled against the wall. His golden hair was a matted mess, his clothes were askew and his shirt was wide open. He bore in his hand a bottle that tilted precariously, spilling drops of miruvor onto the wooden parquet.

"Glorfindel!"

The elf looked up with bleary sapphire eyes, which he had difficulty in focussing.

"Pen-neth?" he slurred, his tongue seemingly refusing to co-operate. "It is my pen-neth, my sweet, my darling one," Glorfindel hiccupped. "So many names - but I can't call you mine anymore, can I? They won't let me. You won't let me." The lord began to cry, drunk and pathetic. Erestor felt his heart twist.

"Come, hir nîn," he said softly. "Let me help you back to your chambers." He reached under Glorfindel's arms, lifting his large frame upright with difficulty. Placing one long arm across his shoulder, the advisor coaxed Glorfindel into staggering down the corridor to his rooms.

It was the first time Erestor had entered Glorfindel's chamber since he had prepared them before the reborn lord's arrival. Little had been added to them save a few cushions, rugs and books to personalize it to the golden lord. Passing through into the bedchamber, Erestor reached the huge four-poster bed and almost collapsed on it, dragged down by the weight of the drunken elf. He had some difficulty extricating himself from Glorfindel's grip as the golden lord was reluctant to release him, but finally he succeeded. Erestor knew that Glorfindel was more likely to suffer from his recurring nightmares in this state, and so he turned to the bottle of herb potion on the small bedside table. He was familiar with the dosage prescribed by Elrond for he himself had written out the order to the apothecary. As he lifted the bottle to pour the dose he heard the golden lord speak. He turned his head, startled to see the sapphire eyes watching him, perusing him. Devouring him.

"Meleth. Meleth-nîn. Ind-nîn. Fëa-nîn."

Erestor quivered, a heat sweeping through him as he registered the desire, the longing in those worlds. He fought for control of his body, concentrating on pouring the potion into the glass. He leant over the golden elf, raising his precious head, tilting the glass so that the liquid poured into Glorfindel's mouth. The elf swallowed the medication.

"They don't hurt, you know. They may be ugly but they do not hurt."

Erestor was puzzled. What didn't hurt? He was paralysed at the next words, shock hitting his mind and body.

"The whip hurt me when it hit, pen-vuin, but I ignored - ignored the pain. It didn't matter. You did. I saw your eyes when I fell and I saw the hurt I caused you. I…am sorry, my love… I am …sorry that I … upset you…"

The words trailed away and Erestor stood, dumbfounded. He was sorry? Glorfindel was sorry? *He* was *sorry*?

With a cry Erestor collapsed to his knees by the bed, casting caution and reserve to the wind.

"No, no!" he wept, the sorrow in his heart finally bursting forth in the presence of his love. "Do not apologise to *me*, my lord! My dearest lord!"

In a moment Erestor was grasped tight, lifted and rolled in one swift movement, pinned onto the bed under the weight of solid muscle. Hs mouth was claimed in a brutal kiss, demanding, determined. He had no way to move, no power to break free. He was helpless. He was trapped. He was -

A strong tongue pressed against his teeth, demanding entry, demanding control and Erestor relinquished that control with little demur. His breath was taken from him by both the strength of the raid upon his senses and the weight of the elf above him. He could not resist. Did not want to resist.

Did not resist.

Erestor's defences collapsed as he relished the pressure of the longed-for body upon his. His hands eagerly swept across Glorfindel's chest, stroking those powerful muscles, feeling that supple skin, kneading and revelling in the flesh pressing against his lean body. His lips pressed tight against Glorfindel's, feeling the sinuous muscle delve into the warm crevices of his mouth; his own tongue dancing, tangling with his love's, revelling in the sweet taste of his lord. Finally he was touching, holding Glorfindel in the way he had dreamed of for millennia. His Glorfindel.

The seneschal moved his lips from that rose-red mouth, dipped them to that creamy white throat. He proceeded to nibble at that flesh, feeling the pulse that Erestor knew had speeded beyond counting. His lord was licking him, tasting him, owning him. His mouth suckled fiercely, marking Erestor as the true possession of his golden lord. And Erestor wanted to be possessed.

He lifted his chin, arching into the contact; gasped as a hand moved from shoulder to bare chest. It brushed the roseate nipple, teased, pinched, hardening the flesh as his own member had hardened. He could feel Glorfindel's shaft pressing against his thigh and Erestor rotated his hips to increase the friction, causing Glorfindel to growl in rough desire. Erestor was aching for this ellon, aching for his touch - aching for *him*, body and soul. The logical part of Erestor's mind cried out in warning but was beaten into submission by his heart. By his love for Glorfindel. There was only love and lust and Erestor and Glorfindel.

Sensation was all. He barely registered when Glorfindel's hand abandoned his nipple, when it slipped lower to fumble at the laces of his sleep pants, then at the front of Glorfindel's own leggings. The fingers were unsure, controlled as they were by a brain fogged by drink and lust, but eventually they were successful. His arousal was finally free of its trappings, and lustfully collided with Glorfindel's – two hot, swollen rods rubbing in a long-awaited welcome.

Glorfindel's mouth swiftly found the fondled nub, and the moist lips elicited a strangled cry from Erestor as they clamped over the swollen nipple. The golden lord's tongue was expert, the pink tip licking lightly and constantly over the excited flesh as the lips applied tight suction and pressure in turn. Erestor was overwhelmed, writhing eagerly in response to the darts of joy flaring from the teat, spreading like a lightning strike through the rest of his over-sensitive body. His stiffened, swollen shaft jerked in response, its tip dripping the evidence of his need. Some small part of him wept, pleading that this feeling was wrong, that this act shouldn't be this way, in drink and in violation of his self-imposed denial. He didn't deserve this bliss. He didn't deserve this love, he didn't deserve Glorfindel. It shouldn't be happening.

His neglected body would not be denied, not now, not when he was so close to uniting with the other half of his soul. He could feel Glorfindel's erection pressing hot in needy pressure against his belly. He lifted his pelvis, increasing the friction on his own lusty member, pleading with his body and with Glorfindel for fulfilment. Glorfindel answered his unspoken prayer, wrapping his large hand around both slick shafts and gently stroked the velvet flesh together. Perhaps he too realised that their union should not be completed in a drunken tumble.

His strokes were sure, even. His thumb slipped across the weeping slits, causing Erestor to arch in ecstatic shock and the dark elf pushed into the grip, trying to increase the strength and pace of the strokes, desperate for release. His mouth pressed against Glorfindel's neck, sweet kisses and licks lapping at his firm skin. From Glorfindel's lips poured sweet endearments, slurred by desire and alcohol.

"My Erestor. Mine. My love, My heart. Mine. Melin le, Erestor-nîn."

The longing and love evoked in those words served to spur Erestor on, and he reached for his lord, pulling him by the shoulders, lifting the glorious mouth to his own rose-red lips. He plundered the depths of his lord's sweet cavern, floating on a haze of uncontrollable ardour. Erestor's slender fingers entwining in those golden tresses of silk and sunshine in heated frenzy until he could withstand the escalating sensation no more. In his passion he cried out to his love and his lord.

"Glorfindel! My love, my lord. I am yours, I am yours!"

Tears rolled down Erestor's cheeks when he saw the ecstasy on his lover's face as he came in a roaring shout. Erestor cried out too in sweet rapture, reaching that same zenith in tandem with his golden lord.

"Glorfindel!"

He gripped tight to that treasured body, the melethron he had ached for through three thousand long, lonely years. The heat of his seed, the mingled seed of their completion, spread across his taut stomach, and he rode the turbulent waves of intense sensation crashing through his body.

In the dazed aftermath, the pressing weight and soft snores told Erestor that the alcohol and the medicine had finally taken their toll upon the golden lord. As much as he wanted to stay there, to be enfolded into that warm embrace, he knew that he could not. He pressed upwards, using weapon-honed muscles to slide his shaking body from under the dozing elf, and made his way to the bathroom to collect a washcloth. Cleansing himself he noted absently that the repairs he had authorised via Saelbeth had been completed. He returned to the bed and Glorfindel, and cleansed his darling lord then disposed of the cloth in the laundry basket. The cool, composed counsellor was now in control, sealing the medicine bottle, smoothing the sheets, removing all traces of the torrid lovemaking that had occurred. Finally he positioned Glorfindel onto his side, the safest position for sleep in his drunken stupor.

Erestor looked down at his golden lord, and could not resist sitting on the side of the bed, stroking softly that shining mane. He bent over Glorfindel, pressing his lips to the golden tresses, savouring the texture, memorising the sweet scent.

"I love you, my Glorfindel. I will always love you. Perhaps – perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you *can* forgive me. Perhaps I can forgive myself…" Silent tears began to flow down the pale cheeks as Erestor smiled wistfully. "One day, my love. One day I will prove myself to you and then, if the Valar will permit it, I can be in your arms once more."

He stood and quietly crossed the floor, turning one last time to look at his soulmate, before returning to the solitude of his rooms, his heart soothed by the memory of this special night.

 

****

 

It was in trepidation that Erestor entered the dining hall that morning, not knowing if the events of the night had been overheard. The greeting from Elrond and Celébrian was cordial, no different to any other morning. Erestor took some items from the food arrayed before him, but could only toy with it.

What had he been thinking? So many barriers built, so much denial and doubt - yet he had tumbled into bed with Glorfindel with such ease. Erestor felt his face beginning to flush. No, that was not quite true. Glorfindel had pulled him into bed, and if the golden lord had not been drunk then Erestor *would* have resisted - forcefully. It was the intoxicated state of the seneschal that had caused him to abandon his resistance, for surely Glorfindel would not remember the events of the night in his alcoholic haze. But now, in the light of day, Erestor was filled with dread for he believed his assumptions unsound and that he faced a declaration, here, in front of the Lord and Lady of Imladris. He was not ready for this, not ready for Glorfindel's love, not ready for *his* love to be known. He did not want to face this moment.

A movement at the door behind him and a hearty "Good morning" told Erestor that the seneschal had arrived. Steeling himself he raised his head and nodded to Glorfindel in greeting. The nod was returned warmly.

As the seneschal took his place Erestor observed him closely. In the bleary eyes and pale complexion there was evidence of Glorfindel's excessive intake of the day before, but he had obviously taken care with his appearance, and his clothes were fresh and neat. His movements were careful and the odd wince indicated that the effects of the miruvor had not yet worn off fully, but still he seemed mostly recovered. As the conversation at the table turned to daily events Erestor slowly realised that, between the miruvor and the medication, Glorfindel had categorised their tryst as a drunken dream.

In contrast to his earlier thoughts, Erestor did not know whether he was relieved or not. He only knew that he would long hold the memory in his heart, in blessed hope for a sweeter future. A future that would perhaps be brighter for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
> ellyn – male elves (pl)  
> ellith – female elves (pl)  
> ellon – male elf (sing.)  
> meldir - friend  
> mellon nîn – my friend  
> pen-neth - little one  
> meleth-nîn - my love  
> ind-nîn - my heart  
> fëa-nîn - my soul  
> pen-vuin - dear one  
> melethron - lover (male)  
> melin le - I love you  
> Erestor nîn - my Erestor


	13. Chapter 13

T.A. 160 - 1300

 

The years rolled by, swiftly for some, slowly for others. Imladris stood calmly in the eye of the storm as the world of Men swirled around them, and it seemed that barely had one king of Men been crowned that he died, and his successor was raised to the throne. Elrond Peredhel watched the progression of Kings, of the Lords of Arnor and Gondor, carefully. For indeed, through generations untold, they were kin to him - his beloved twin had chosen the fate of mortal men, and these lords of the Secondborn were his descendants, and thus vital to the future of Middle Earth. It had been an Alliance of Elves and Men that, in accord with the Valar and the Naugrim had fought in the War of Wrath, causing the expulsion of Melkor beyond the bounds of Arda, thus signalling the end of the First Age. Similarly the end of the Second Age brought the downfall of Sauron - but there the strength of Men had faltered and Isildur had succumbed to the power of the One Ring. This Ring was now lost but Elrond was, as always, wary of relaxing his vigil. There were already signs that evil was on the move once more, as Glorfindel's presence in Imladris showed. Thus the fates of both lines of ancient Númenor were watched with keen eyes and fearful heart.

The turning years brought changes for Glorfindel too. His power, position and prowess as seneschal of Imladris became renowned throughout elvendom and he soon became familiar with most of the realms of the Eldar. He travelled across the Misty Mountains to enter the enchanted realm of Lothlórien as escort to the Lord and his Lady, on visits to Celebrían's parents. His sojourns in Lórien were entertaining and informative, and soothing to his soul. He found delight in his converse with the rulers of that realm, for he had known the Lady Galadriel from his first life in Valinor, then later when she wed Celeborn, Prince of Doriath. As a Noldor Glorfindel had never been admitted past the Girdle of Melian, but he had encountered the Lord and Lady in councils outside of Thingol's realm. His thirst for contact with those he had known in the First Age, *his* Age, was sated whenever he entered the Golden Wood, though he resisted all persuasions of Galadriel to view her blessed mirror.

"It is no longer my place to question the will of the Valar. They forgave me for my misdeeds in the rebellion and allowed me to be reborn. They forgave my recalcitrant behaviour on my return to Imladris. I will not seek out knowledge of my future but instead treasure what joys I have at present."

In a different wood his dealings were not so calm for Thranduil, King of the Greenwood, was the son of that Oropher who had defied Gil-galad and the Lords of the West to make that ill-fated charge at the Battle of Dagorlad. The ruler of the Sindar elves was an edhel who bore a mistrust of the Noldor as his father had done, yet he knew that one realm could not stand alone against possible evils, especially when not protected by a magical ring. He thus had entered into an alliance with the other elf-havens. He would never break a treaty but it did not mean he had to *like* his fellow lords - yet he liked Glorfindel. In him he saw a warrior of great deeds and mighty stature - and a strong head for drink. Glorfindel did not truly indulge in the way he once did, in the dark year of his rebirth, but he knew how to make it look as if he did, and he thus won the admiration of the golden king, who lived a lusty and luxurious life. Everyone knew that negotiations with the Greenwood always went smoother if Glorfindel was there.

For Círdan and the Havens, Glorfindel always held the strongest affection. Círdan had been the first to greet him on his return and had promoted his resettlement in Middle Earth. There was a keen understanding with him and so Glorfindel revelled in his trips to the coastal port. For the golden lord did not feel the call of the sea. No indeed, not until his work was done and his destiny run its course would he feel the pull of the true home of elvenkind. Instead he could tread the cliff paths and imagine himself back to the time of his arrival - the time when had such hopeful dreams of finding Erestor.

Erestor. The love he felt for the dark elf had not diminished. Oh no, in no way had he relinquished his pen-neth's hold over his heart, or the call of his own. The overwhelming grief of separation from the other half of his soul was, however, somewhat soothed by the gift of peace laid upon him by the Valar. In his travels through Middle Earth his only regret was that Erestor did not always travel with him. He rejoiced in the company of his dark darling when the counsellor was a member of a diplomatic party or an ambassador on a state occasion. He missed him dreadfully when Erestor's talents were required in Imladris. Separations, be it for a day on patrol or months or years in missions, were always a trial to Glorfindel. For Erestor had become to him something that he had never been before.

A friend.

It had started slowly - very slowly. He didn't know when the tension had started to fade, when Erestor had stopped flinching whenever he approached him. Never again had Glorfindel indulged in miruvor to the point of insensibility, as he had done on the night of the second dream. Why Irmo had bequeathed it upon him he did not know, but it was even more real to him than the one in Gondolin, for he could still feel Erestor writhing beneath him, panting, pressing their sleek and demanding members together in lustful need. He could still hear Erestor's voice calling out his name in his rapture, declaring his love, over and over. Ai, as much as he longed for that dream to have been repeated, he would not disrupt the newfound respect and rapport he had felt with Erestor by living through the haze of alcohol.

It was only the little things at first - a gentle greeting, a quiet remark; a simple comment upon the clemency of the weather. The day when Erestor turned, a genuine smile on his face at seeing the seneschal approach, was one that Glorfindel treasured in his memory, for he had longed to see once again a certain brilliant smile, one that was meant for him alone. Small steps had been taken towards a calmer relationship than that which had torn their sanity apart in that first year of Glorfindel's return. Over the centuries both had striven to support Elrond and supply Imladris with that which it needed most - two devoted and determined chief officers. They worked, apart and together, to promote the relationships between the elven realms with those of dwarves and men. They combined their expertise to maintain the safety and security of the elven refuge, and they had united to provide the twin heirs with a full and rounded education. The twins learned of politics and arts, healing techniques and the skills of diplomacy. They also learned the art and application of the martial skills of hand, sword, knife and bow. Of the first two Glorfindel was the undisputed master; of the third, Erestor led the field; and for the last, the Lady Celebrían's parents had provided and sent one of their finest archers to teach them - Haldir ó Lórien.

Thus it was at the Coming-of-Age celebrations for the twins that the three tutors stood together in satisfied accomplishment and pride when the young princes received their Blessing from the hands of their father. In joy and unity Haldir had grasped a hand of each of his fellow educators and pronounced them an unequalled fellowship.

"For if we can survive the teaching of those two young hellions, we can survive anything!" he laughed, joined in merriment by both sable and golden edhil. When the blonde archer left them to partake of the fine wines on offer Glorfindel realised that Erestor had not released his fingers from his grasp. He smiled down at the dark elf who was standing quietly, unconscious of his continued hold on the golden lord.

"I am sorry I missed your fiftieth begetting day, Erestor," he murmured softly, Erestor looked up quickly, an automatic rebuff on his lips, but he saw the honesty and sadness in the sapphire eyes. Instead he squeezed the large hand.

"I am sorry too," he said, lifting those expressive brown eyes. "Yet we are both here now, for Elrohir and Elladan. Let us take some comfort in that."

And so they were at peace. An overjoyed Elrond watched them from across the Hall of Fire, delighted to witness the beginning of a new phase in his friends' relationship.

Similar happiness was found in the next century when Celebrían was delivered of a girl child, Arwen. Inheriting Elrond's dark hair and her mother's beauty, the sweet baby found willing protectors in the Chief Counsellor and the Seneschal of Imladris. They took it in turns to hold the smiling babe, rocking her and uttering sweet inanities in their besotted enchantment. They each envied the other when it was not their turn to cradle her, and the jealousy became totally irrational and aimed towards her father when they had to return the little elleth to his arms. They did not reminisce in speech but instead communicated through knowing glances their memories of Elrond's father as a baby in Gondolin.

 

Time brought another joy to Glorfindel - the arrival at the end of the first millennium of the Third Age of the Maiar Ólorin, whom he had known on his rebirth in Valinor, now embodied in the guise of an aged human male. Ólorin was one of five Maiar who came to be known as the Istari, and they were led by Curumo, Curunír in Sindarin - the 'Cunning One'. In the speech of Men he was called Saruman. Ólorin was given the name Galdalf the Grey for his habitual garb of mid-grey tones; his elvish name was Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim.

"And that is the name you must call me by, young Glorfindel!" the Maiar laughed, lifting his glass of ale in salute. "If we are to be effective against the Dark Lord then we must hold back the knowledge of much of our powers - including knowledge of our origins. The darkness is rising again, meldir. Already there is movement in the southern ranges of the Greenwood. Thranduil will find it difficult to maintain hold of his realm against the regrouping forces of Sauron."

Glorfindel nodded, his hands cradling the glass of wine he had held for near on an hour of their talk in the Hall of Fire. His need for liquor had diminished greatly since that dark year of his return, and he partook only to give appearance of camaraderie with his troops. He glanced at Gandalf, his face disbelieving of the old man before him.

"Ai, Ólor - Mithrandir. I understand the need for subterfuge but this - disguise - that you have adopted… You were so bright, so pure and beautiful on Taniquetil!"

Gandalf grinned, his lips not hidden by the straggling beard nor the twinkle in his blue eyes diminished.

"Needs must, my dear Glorfindel. And speaking of beauty, how fared your quest? I see that you found your Erestor, but I dare say that Vairë had the right of it? That your return was not necessarily welcomed by him?" His smile gentled, knowing full well what had passed between Erestor and Glorfindel. Glorfindel smiled ruefully.

"Aye, Vairë was truthful in her warning. As always, I had to be the one who was right, the one who would prevail. I did not, but since my revelation on the cliffs of Imladris my relationship with Erestor has become more - settled. I will never give up my love for him but I will abide by the creed of the Valar. My life, my soul is in their hands until I have fulfilled my duty."

Gandalf nodded and laid a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder, squeezing it hard.

"Take comfort in this - the Valar are not cold-hearted. They can lay restrictions upon you - but they can also promote great joy. Have faith, my golden friend."

 

****

 

Another happy reunion took place in the most unexpected way. The one leader of an elven community that Glorfindel had yet to meet was Gildor Inglorion, Prince of the House of Fingon. His principal home was in the elven port of Edhellond, a coastal town in Gondor near to the settlement of Dol Amroth. His was an active spirit though, one not meant to stay in one place for long. Thus he had set up a travelling community, a Company of Elves who wandered throughout Middle Earth, maintaining contact between the settled realms of the Eldar. That Glorfindel had not met him earlier was amazing, but sadly Gildor's previous arrivals in Imladris always seemed to coincide with his own journeys to the other realms of the Havens, Greenwood or Lothlórien. And so Glorfindel was delighted when he stood beside Elrond in the courtyard of the Last Homely House and saw the procession of colourful elves make their entrance.

Gildor Inglorion was a bright lord, light of spirit and beauty. Fair of countenance, his fine-boned face was framed by delicate light-gold hair. Whereas Glorfindel was the epitome of Anor aflame at the height of the day, Gildor's tresses reflected the pale yellow of a hazy early-morning sun.

The greetings were joyous, the introductions informal and the gathering was welcomed into the house for a midday feast. As the throng dispersed, Glorfindel spotted Erestor moving aside to greet an elleth who had arrived in the Company. The greeting was enthusiastic, at least on the elleth's part, as she enfolded Erestor in her embrace. Glorfindel watched in amazement, then his mouth flew open as he realised who she was.

"Díwen!"

The cry was loud and the elleth turned in shock, a shock that was compounded when she realised who had called her name. She immediately tried to drop into a curtsey but Glorfindel would not allow it, scooping the slight figure into a bear hug.

" Díwen, as I live and breathe! Ai, this miscreant did not tell me of your coming, nor indeed that you still resided in Middle Earth!"

The elleth breathed deeply and rapidly, trying to reclaim the breath that had been squeezed out of her by the elf lord, as well as trying to slow her speeding heart.

"Ai, my lord, praise to the Valar for granting the mercy of your return to us!" She looked at the two elves, Erestor and Glorfindel, and grinned widely. "I wager that the reunion was an occasion of delight and wonder!" She laughed at seeing the discomfort on their faces and misinterpreted it as embarrassment. "We were never fooled, Mirieth and I. We knew of your love long before you did, I am sure. I am so happy that you are together again."

Erestor hastened to change the subject, to avoid awkward questions.

"How is your family, Díwen? Are they not with you?" The elleth smiled fondly.

"Nay, for Pathon sails with the fishing fleet now, having taken to the life of a mariner with great enthusiasm. And Nienna is married and had her first child some fifteen years ago." She turned to Glorfindel. "I am a grandmother now, my lord."

"Then you are truly blessed," responded Glorfindel, smiling. "Though I wish that you would not call me 'my lord'. I am Lord of the Golden Flower no more, but simply Glorfindel of Rivendell."

Díwen shook her head. "You will always be *my* lord, as Erestor is my gwador, but I will try - Glorfindel."

The golden lord hugged her again, though this time her ribs did not feel as if they would crack. Erestor coughed lightly behind them. Glorfindel grinned.

"I think that is a warning that we are expected at the festivities." He looked into her eyes, a more serious mien on his face. "I need to talk to you later, Díwen. Please."

Díwen glanced at Erestor who looked somewhat alarmed, but then nodded in resignation.

"Very well, my lord - Glorfindel! Later."

Another hug in farewell, then the counsellor and the seneschal walked slowly towards the dining hall. Glorfindel looked carefully at his companion, considering what to say. Finally he spoke.

"I will not ask her," he said softly. "If you do not desire it, I will not ask her. I will abide by your wishes, mellon nîn." Erestor sighed and shook his head.

"No, you need to talk. And ask. Ask Díwen, she will tell you what happened after-"

The pain lanced across his face and Glorfindel took his hand.

"Oh pen-neth, I never wanted to hurt you so."

He stroked his thumb over the back of the creamy skin, marvelling at its softness. He ached to pull Erestor into his arms, to just hold him and comfort him. He looked into those chocolate-brown eyes, fearing to see rejection again. Instead, he saw gratitude and also acceptance of the divide that had been placed between them by the Valar. And the same ache he felt? Perhaps. He would not, could not dwell on that thought, for it would bring forth all the longing that he had hidden for centuries. Just to know that Erestor had started to accept their former relationship, even in a minor way, brought tears to Glorfindel's eyes. Erestor reached up and stroked Glorfindel's cheek hesitantly.

"That the Valar gave you back to us is a miracle, meldir. I will abide by their ruling. As long as you are back in my life again, as a friend if nothing more, then I will abide."

As their eyes met so did their hearts and in this moment of sweet acceptance Glorfindel knew that one day Erestor would be his again. Another gentle smile from those rose-red lips and a final pressure on his fingers, then their hands parted and they walked, side by side, into the awaiting feast.

 

****

 

The morning light shone down upon Glorfindel's meeting with Díwen. He had quickly performed his morning duties as seneschal, delegating some of the tasks to Andrann, and he knew that his meeting with Gildor and Elrond regarding security matters was yet some hours away. Now he took Díwen to one of the summerhouses in the extensive gardens, where they could be alone.

Díwen studied Glorfindel's face as he searched for the right words in which to frame his questions. In the dappled light which filtered through the traceries of the elegant framework, and the green ivy twining around the graceful arches, Díwen could see that her original hopes had not been fulfilled. She leaned across to the golden lord and placed her hand on his knee. He raised his head in inquiry.

"I was wrong, wasn't I?" she asked. "You are not united with Erestor."

The ellon shook his head slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly. Yet there was a slight smile on his face.

"No, not in the way you mean, though it was not without want or need on my part. I love Erestor and always will, but Erestor was not ready. And now I am bound to await my destiny."

Díwen did not fully understand his meaning for she knew little of the reasons for his return. Her heart bled for the elf lord.

"You wish to know what happened on Cirith Thoronath after you - fell? What happened to Erestor?" She was hesitant but Glorfindel's determined face urged her on. Her mind sped back to that fateful night.

"I was not beside Erestor when you fell, my lord. I was still caught in the crowds, the press trying to flee from the balrog - but I heard the screams. We all heard the screams. They echoed through the mountains, crying out in loss and despair. When I reached Erestor, Mirieth was trying to pull him up, to drag him away from the cliff edge and up the mountain track. He would not move. He was transfixed, staring only at the point where he last saw you. We were terrified, terrified that the orcs would take us, kill us. Then the eagles came. They fought the orcs, driving them over the cliffs, tearing them apart with their vicious talons. The filthy creatures were no match for those majestic eagles. We were safe. Then the king of the eagles came. He bore - he bore your body, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel nodded. He had heard of this before and he patted the trembling Díwen in encouragement. He said nothing for he wanted - needed - to hear more.

"The remaining warriors of our House carried you with reverence and, with the aid of many, raised a cairn over your resting place. Lord Tuor led a brief eulogy. Erestor - Erestor had stopped his screams but stared only ahead of him, unconscious of the crowd around him. Some of the guard, some of those who had been his tutors, his weapon-masters, his friends…They carried him in turn, over the rocky scree, over the mountains. Every so often, unexpectedly, Erestor would rave. Screaming, shouting, calling your name. Always your name, my lord. And a few words, over and over again. 'My fault'. 'I killed him'. 'My fault'. Nothing, no one could break through his barriers, could reassure him or console him. He was locked in his own world, the pain coursing through him in cycles. He often went into spasms, becoming rigid. They were the most frightening of times, Glorfindel. We feared that we would lose him too."

Glorfindel could make no response. He had felt the blood drain from his face at the horrific description of his beloved's broken heart and broken mind. He knew he must look pale for Díwen's glances at him were full of concern. Yet he could not articulate, could only plead with his eyes for her to continue the tale. She read and understood those pleas.

"We walked with our fellow refugees to the banks of the Sirion; to Nan-tathren, the land of Willows, where we were able to take our rest for a short time. Here we grieved, here we wept - for our lost loved ones; our beautiful home; our shattered sheltered peace. We grieved for our king and our fallen defenders - and we sang for you, Glorfindel. Our shining Lord. The ragged remnant of the House of the Golden Flower led the dirge but every House sang for you. And we sang for Erestor, for he was your pen-neth - and our new Lord.

"Yet he did not know and could not respond, and as the days passed we realised that when the exodus moved on in its journey, we could not go with them. Erestor was no better, if anything he was worse for when he raved he also ran. He ran to the river to try to throw himself in; he ran to the forest, determined to climb the highest tree and throw himself down. By whatever means, he was determined to follow you, my lord. He wanted to die."

Glorfindel closed his eyes, the grief for his pen-neth's sorrow twisting his heart. He didn't know, hadn't known the extent of the madness that Erestor had faced. How could he have survived? How *did* he survive? Díwen continued, her own voice trembling in the enforced remembering. They had all been torn, all wounded by the horrors they had faced, Glorfindel realised. Yet they had stood firm by his bereft beloved. Gratitude swelled within his heart for the gentle elleth.

"Finally Mirieth made the decision. We had learned by that time that her husband and her eldest son Brôglon had fallen in the battle, though Aradol had been found. She refused to fade, she refused to leave her third son - Erestor. He was her son too, he was unwell and she would not leave him. Nor would I."

Glorfindel leaned across in gratitude. "Ai, Mirieth truly loved him as did Aradol and Brôglon. I never understood how they were not jealous of the attention their mother paid to him," he said with a smile. Díwen clasped his hand in return.

"He was but a babe when he came into our lives and they were near grown. He was their baby brother, even though he looked to you and not to them so much."

Glorfindel pressed her fingers. "And to you. He looked to you too, Díwen." She smiled.

"My gwador. Such a sweet child, such a devoted brother. I could not leave him, my lord. Not my little Erestor. So we were to stay, whilst the others moved on. Erestor, Mirieth, Aradol and I. Lord Tuor asked for volunteers for a small escort. The entire guard of the Golden Flower stepped forward, my lord, in honour of you and of Erestor. Finally four were chosen, a small group preferable to a large force. We would hide, set up a small encampment, hunt through the winter and wait for Erestor to recover. The warriors were chosen because they were either unbound, or had lost their kin and had no other ties. Laindir, Orthored, Galudirn and Eruant."

The golden lord nodded. They were all experienced warriors, masters and tutors to Erestor in his youth. They all had fought alongside Glorfindel for centuries, in the Battles of Beleriand. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to his friends for their care of his beloved Erestor. He focussed upon Díwen again. She was becoming distressed by these recollections and although he did not want to stop her - no indeed, he *needed* to know all - he would not prolong her distress by endless questions.

"That year was hard, Glorfindel. We had to take shelter in caves, hunt for food and for furs to keep us warm. Mirieth and I searched for herbs where we could, having been instructed in simple draughts by an apothecary who had escaped the city. In this way we kept Erestor calm and reduced his ravings to a minimum. At one point we thought that we would lose him, for he refused to eat. I think that he forgot *how* to eat. In the end Mirieth persuaded him, settling his frame upon her lap whilst she fed him sops. It reminded me - it was the night you rescued him, my lord! It was that night once again and, when he finished eating, Erestor curled against Mirieth and his eyes glazed in sleep, one thumb in his mouth. He, a grown elf! He murmured your name. He said - 'My Glo'fin'l!'"

Díwen burst into heavy sobs, the memories overwhelming her as she fell into Glorfindel's arms. Finally the lord succumbed to his own pain, aching with sadness at the trials that Díwen and Mirieth had borne. He felt that he could ask no more of this faithful sister, but she dashed the tears from her eyes, determined to finish.

"It was more than a year later when tragedy struck again. Erestor had seemed to improve, so we had reduced his medication. He now fed and clothed himself, though he did not speak, and his cycle of stupor and storm had abated somewhat. However our danger had increased. Orcs now regularly delved into the forest near to our encampment and though we stood watch, we chose to keep silent in the hope that they would pass us by. We forgot about Erestor - forgot about how he might react. He heard them, their screams and their cries. It sparked something within him. He picked up his knives, the ones given to him by Lord Ecthelion and neglected by him for so long. He picked them up and ran out of the cave into the forest. He was swearing, cursing, damning them for killing you, for killing Ecthelion. He cried out for them to kill him too. And they tried.

"It was only a small patrol, twenty at the most, but we only had five warriors. Odds of four to one. In the aftermath the evil ones were all dead but so were Laindir and Galudirn, in defence of us and defence of Erestor. Erestor sat, looking at their bodies and his eyes focused, they truly *saw* for the first time in a year. He lifted his head and spoke, intelligible yet terrible words. 'Why must I kill all my friends?' he said, and his voice was hollow. 'Everyone that I love, dies.'

"We held him, we reassured him in our sorrow, yet our hearts rejoiced that his sanity had returned. He helped us to bury them, for we could not risk the fires of a pyre. He said the prayers of the dead for them, and then he fell beside their graves and wept.

"Erestor improved very quickly then, at least physically. He started to interact, ask questions about his missing year. He did not mention your name once, and ignored us if we tried to introduce your name in conversation. It was as if he refused to acknowledge that you had ever lived. He frightened us again when he started to disappear before dawn, taking his knives with him, but he always returned before breakfast. Orthored found him one morning, practising with his knives. He was in tears of frustration, for he handled them poorly and had forgotten much of what he had been taught. He was angry at first at being discovered but then he asked Orthored for aid and soon he was sparring with them all. Erestor, who had never taken to a warrior's life! He told me later that he would never let anyone die for him again.

"Now that my brother had recovered, there was talk of leaving, of moving south to rejoin the rest of our people. Erestor remained quiet, not joining in our plans. On the night before our journey he made his declaration. He would not come with us. He would not take up the lordship of the House of the Golden Flower. 'Its Lord is dead. I am dead. I will not go, though I urge you all to follow your hearts. I love you all, most dearly, but Erestor of Gondolin is dead and I will not go.'

"Mirieth pleaded, and he sat beside her and comforted her through the night. She thought that her pleadings had succeeded and she fell asleep in his arms, sure that her third son would be beside her on the long road to the Mouths of the Sirion. When we awoke, Erestor was gone.

"We searched the whole day but he has truly gone, taking his knives with him. In time we knew we had to go too and so we left, our hearts heavy once more with loss. We settled in the Haven of Sirion and Orthored and I wed, for we had discovered in our life in the wilderness that our hearts and souls were one. Mirieth and Aradol lived with us. Mirieth grieved ever for her lost Erestor and she said prayers every night for his safety. Then war returned once more, first with the attack of the sons of Fëanor, then the War of Wrath, in which Aradol died.

"Mirieth took this hard, and she determined, when the call came, to sail for Valinor, for she hoped one day for her sons return from the Halls of Waiting into the Blessed Realm. A hundred years after the War, Orodreth and I escorted her to the Grey Havens. I do not know why she wished to leave from there rather than the Haven of Sirion. Perhaps she had faith that Erestor still dwelt in the north. On our way we passed through Lindon and the Court of Gil-galad. Imagine our surprise and happiness at finding Erestor, alive and settled.

"The reunion was emotional beyond belief as Mirieth fell into his arms and wept for all her children. The Lords Elrond and Elros, and the High-King, were most kind and freed Erestor from his duties so that he could spend time with us. We spent days walking the gardens, sitting by the fountains in memories and reminiscences - at least on our part. To Erestor, Gondolin was no more and you had never existed. He would not speak of you, would not say or hear your name. He had built his own world, his own history and he would admit no other. He was Erestor of Lindon.

"The parting of foster-mother and son was painful yet peaceful and Mirieth was calm when we placed her onboard her ship. She carried her son's love with her. Orodreth and I joined Lord Gildor's company later and since then we have been reunited with Erestor many times, both in Lindon and here, in Imladris. Orodreth fought beside him at the Gates of Mordor, and said that there was no reconciling the skilled warrior that day with the Erestor of his youth. Erestor of Gondolin was dead, and Erestor of Lindon prevailed."

Díwen trailed off, her tale told and centuries unfurled for Glorfindel's edification. The golden lord sat in stunned amazement, wondering how in Arda they had all survived such a traumatic experience. Then he thought of the trials and torments of the Firstborn since their Awakening on the shores of Cuiviénen. The Eldar had never chosen easy paths in their lives; the history of the Firstborn was littered with stories of great pain and great sacrifice. Thank Eru that they had been given the fortitude to face such obstacles.

He turned to Díwen again, gratitude and sympathy for her shining from every fibre of his being. He thanked her, embracing her as kin, as Erestor's sister.

"Be always welcome in my home and my heart, gwathel. You are my kin, now and forever."

Díwen accepted the offered kinship with grace, but released him soonest, knowing that Glorfindel need to return to Erestor.

"My love and my prayers go with you both, my lord, and may all your dearest wishes come to fruition.

 

****

 

Glorfindel found Erestor alone on the east terrace, staring at the tonnage of water falling in the Great Cascade, falling in its endless descent over the cliffs of Imladris. The golden lord halted, entranced for a moment by the glorious profile Erestor presented to him. His beautiful, most beloved, most elegant Erestor. The advisor sensed him there and turned, a gentle smile welcoming Glorfindel to his side. He reached up his hand to stroke the golden lord's face.

"No tears, Glorfindel. There have been too many shed for me. Too much blood, too many tears. I beg of you, no more."

Glorfindel looked into those chocolate-brown eyes, so exotic, so gloriously framed by dark silken lashes, and saw only peace and acceptance - and love - there. His heart swelled with the knowledge that his love was finally accepted and returned. He gathered Erestor into his arms, pulled the raven head to his broad chest. His hand stroked the fall of black strands and he pressed his lips to the velvet locks.

"No tears," he promised, murmuring against that sweet head. From his love he heard two soft words spoken.

"My Glorfindel."

Throat suddenly clenched with emotion, Glorfindel tightened his arms around his love, and the two stood for a long time, the outside world excluded.

"Always, pen-neth. Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
> edhel - elf  
> pen-neth - little one  
> edhil - elves  
> elleth - female elf (sing.)  
> mellon nîn - my friend  
> pen-neth - little one  
> meldir - friend  
> gwador - sworn brother  
> gwathel - sworn sister


	14. Chapter 14

T.A. 1409

 

Imladris was preparing for war. Glorfindel, seneschal of Rivendell, looked down from his vantage point at the bustling forecourt, watching as the warhorses were brought forth from the stable yard, seeing elves in bright armour preparing for combat. Saddlebags were lifted and placed behind the leather saddles, so unfamiliar in calmer days but so necessary as an aid to grip the horse when letting fly with sword or arrow in the midst of battle. The long curved swords were lashed to the forward straps, the dark wood bows to the rear, and quivers of arrows hanging next to them. Above the natural noise of whinnies and snorts from the patient beasts came the clamour of instructions of the troop commanders, the cries of the supply masters and the orders of his captain, Andrann.

Glorfindel grinned as he saw the twin princes align themselves with his captain, for Elladan and Elrohir had a strong warrior bond to the capable elleth since the first years following their majority. Glorfindel did not know the particulars, nor did he wish to, but he did know that it had involved false presumption on the twins' part, with sensual, bawdy correction by the experienced elleth. Once, when asked about it, Andrann had coloured and had muttered something about being the ‘spicy meat between two slices of freshly-hewn bread'. Since that time the three had ever joined as a favoured team on patrol, even if Andrann was the titular leader.

Glorfindel's smile faltered as he thought back to the events leading to this morning; events precipitated by the return in 1050 of Sauron the Necromancer to Dol Guldur; and of one of his servants to the wintry lands to the North, the one now known as the Witch-King of Angmar. In the year 1300 of this Third Age he had appeared and had established the stronghold of Angmar on the northernmost peak of Carn Dûm, in the divided realm of Arnor. Glorfindel shook his head at the lack of foresight of the Dúnedain, those remnants of the proud race of fallen Númenor. In 861, following the death of King Eärendur, his dissenting sons had divided the one kingdom into three, the realms of Arthedain, Cardolan and Rhudaur. Thus divided, the strength of men had also faded for the division was too deep and acrimonious to ever recombine against a common enemy from without. The creatures of Sauron were thus seen to roam over the Misty Mountains, and orcs had come down as far as Bree and then - Glorfindel shuddered when he remembered the first time that he had killed an orc in this reborn life. They had returned, the evil creatures he had fought against four thousand years ago. The remembrance of the stench almost made him gag, here on the balcony overlooking the courtyard of Rivendell. From that day on he had increased the numbers in the guard and his patrols were ever vigilant, encountering and destroying any incursions against the boundaries of his protectorate.

Glorfindel and Imladris had thus far been able to resist against the besieging forces, augmented by Galadhrim sent from Lórien. The Dúnedain had not. The race had diminished; the direct line of Isildur was broken in Cardolan and Rhudaur. King Argeleb of Arthedain had thus claimed kingship over all three nations but Rhudaur had resisted, being threatened themselves by the Hillmen, allies to Angmar. They slew King Argeleb and only his son, Arveleg, in union with the fellow Dúnedain of Cardolan and a force from Lindon, had held the line, driving back from Rhudaur the invading hordes of Hillmen. This defensive line included the Weather Hills, protecting the disputed Númenorean fort of Amon Sûl and the palantir therein. The line was drawn, but it also drew the greedy eyes of Angmar to the hidden elven refuge of Imladris, and their forces had besieged Rivendell for the past thirty years.

Glorfindel glowered in rage when he remembered all the injuries his troops had taken in the violent clashes - and all the deaths. Elves had fallen in defence of their home and each loss had been as a knife thrust into the hearts of Glorfindel and Elrond. Glorfindel clenched his fist in anger - then winced as the pain from his broken forearm lanced upwards to his shoulder. Imladris prepared for war - and Glorfindel could not go with them. He recalled the events of two days past…

…..

 

The most recent clash had taken place during Glorfindel's watch as he and his patrol had guarded the most northern borders. A large band of orcs and hillmen had crashed down upon them as they entered a narrow passage in the hills. Scouts had gone ahead so they were not without warning. The battle was fierce and Glorfindel had, as usual, thrust himself into the middle of the fray, sword whirling and hacking down upon the foe from the imposing height of Asfaloth's back. He was staunch and swift in his attack, spurring on his troops - then an orc arrow struck the stallion side-on, causing the poor beast to stumble and fall. Glorfindel was thrown, crashing onto his sword arm, breaking it in two places. The adrenaline rampant within him, and the need to repel the attack, kept the reborn lord upon his feet, wielding the broadsword with his less-favoured hand with a greater accuracy than any lesser warrior could have managed. Rough splinting had supported the arm until their return to Imladris, though Glorfindel had to use the horse of one of his fallen troopers as Asfaloth's injury had precluded his being ridden.

Erestor had flown down to the courtyard on their arrival, for he had seen only the riderless Asfaloth at first, and his heart had clenched in unspoken fear. It was only when he had reached the yard and had seen Glorfindel dismounting painfully from his borrowed horse that the dark advisor could be consoled.

"Ai Glorfindel, your timing could not have been worse," Elrond had mourned as he examined the broken arm in a room in the Halls of Healing. "For we have received envoys from both Círdan and from Arthedain. The forces of Angmar have massed and attacked Amon Sûl. They passed through Cardolan, razing the country to the ground and devastating the Dúnedain. Those remnants now seek refuge in the Barrow-Downs and in the Old Forest. Arveleg is slain and only by the fortitude of the remaining men was the palantir saved."

Glorfindel had hissed as the arm was set, then nodding in regret.

"The news is grave indeed. When Rhudaur fell we lost a lot of ground to the dark forces. To lose Amon Sûl… I presume that we will go to their aid? Send a stout force?"

"Yes." This had come from Erestor, who had remained at his beloved's side during his treatment at the healer's hands. "The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien have sent more Galadhrim to reinforce the troops already here. We will be ready to ride within two days."

Glorfindel had looked at Erestor with wide eyes, surprised at the speed of the preparations. Erestor's eyes were shielded and Glorfindel became suspicious. What had Erestor to hide? They had remained so close since the time of Díwen's visit, though of course they had not consummated their renewed relationship. He had looked at Elrond, who had finished binding his arm.

"I hope that support is strong, for although I can use either hand to wield a sword, I do prefer both."

Elrond had looked alarmed, then he had turned to a sniggering Erestor.

"All right, I concede - you *do* know him well enough to predict his actions." The elf lord had turned back to his seneschal, who was bewildered by the exchange. The infamous eyebrow had risen. "Glorfindel, there is *no* possibility of your leading this campaign. Even with the speed of elven healing, that arm will not mend to any extent for at least three weeks. No, you are staying here, meldir."

Glorfindel had exploded. "Then who will lead the troops? Andrann? She is good - very good - but the warriors need a lord to lead them. They need someone to inspire them, someone with experience. Someone who has faced the dark forces before and defeated them!"

Elrond stood patiently, letting the golden lord run his course. Erestor had foretold this precise reaction from Glorfindel and had counselled Elrond to allow Glorfindel a chance to rant. Now it was his turn to speak.

"They will have their lord, Glorfindel. *I* will lead them. As a veteran of many wars and as Gil-galad's former herald, I cannot be thought of as unqualified, can I?"

Glorfindel had been at a loss for words. No, Elrond was certainly not unqualified. In fact, he was the ideal elf to lead this mission - but pride would not let Glorfindel admit this.

"It is too dangerous!" he had expostulated. "You are ruler of Imladris, and all of Elvendom looks to you as a leader in the fight against the darkness - but from here, not getting yourself killed on a battlefield. You need someone beside you as your protector. I should be there!"

Elrond had looked odd at that moment, had lifted his head and looked directly at Erestor, a questioning gleam in his eye. Glorfindel turned and looked at his meleth. Erestor sighed.

"He will not be alone, Glorfindel. I am going with them."

"And *that* is supposed to make me feel better?" Glorfindel had regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth for immediately Erestor had paled, then coloured, a shuttered look on his face. Without a word the dark elf had turned and marched from the room.

"Ah, blast it!" Glorfindel had made to rise but Elrond had tried to stop him.

"Where do you think you are going?" he had snapped. "That arm is broken and you have to rest to give it a chance to heal."

Glorfindel shook his head. "My arm hurts, but not as much as Erestor's heart. We have been reconciled for so long, Elrond, and I have jeopardised it by my foolish words. I will not risk a rift between us, not if he is determined to embark upon this dangerous path."

Elrond did not resist and had helped the golden lord to rise from his sickbed and go to his love. Erestor had not gone far. Glorfindel found him staring out of a window at the end of a corridor, wrapped tightly in his dark red robe. Glorfindel had, thank the Valar, persuaded him out of the gloomy blacks into less sombre colours, ones that enhanced his dark beauty. The elf lord now laid his hand upon Erestor's shoulder.

"I am sorry, pen-neth, " he had whispered contritely. "I did not mean to imply that I did not trust you, nor that I had no faith in your abilities. It is just that I love you so, and I cannot bear the thought that you will ride to war without me at your side to protect you."

Erestor had turned his head, kissing Glorfindel's hand and covering it with his own.

"I know, Glorfindel. And now you know how *I* feel every time that you leave on patrol or on a mission. I shake with fear each time that you ride, and I tremble with relief when you return. Today, when I saw Asfaloth without a rider…Ai, hir nîn, my heart stopped beating until I spotted your golden head further back in the patrol. Yet now I must do my duty, and I grieve for you, for I know how you feel."

Glorfindel had turned the advisor, had held him against his breast with his one good hand. He had kissed the beloved brow.

"Just promise that you will return to me, safe and whole, meleth-nîn. Promise that you will return."

"I will, Glorfindel, I promise."

…….

 

And now he stood, overlooking this courtyard, for once the observer, and it hurt. He was the seneschal, the lord to these troops and he felt that he was letting them down by not being with them. In his gloomy ponderings he did not notice the new arrivals.

"It is hard, is it not, Glorfindel?" said the gentle voice. "To see those we love prepare for battle, and to know that we can not, should not restrain them?"

Glorfindel turned and bowed to Celebrían, accompanied by Arwen. They had come to watch the leave taking and in their compassionate eyes Glorfindel saw the hurt that they too felt. "Aye, it is more so for you, my lady. You see your husband and sons go to war, whereas I only have…"

He trailed off, barely able to think of his beloved's name, never mind articulate it. He had never thought that he would be the one left behind. His eyes searched the yard once more, finally falling upon the one who held his heart. Celebrían knew, of course, to whom he referred.

"I have faith in my husband, as you should have in Erestor. Elrond has praised Erestor's skills as a warrior many times to me. They will protect each other."

Glorfindel nodded, not wanting to speak further. His farewells to Erestor had been said this morning, in the quietness of Erestor's office. He had nearly repented of his vow, had so nearly gone to the dark elf's chambers during the night, but Erestor had forestalled his thoughts before retiring the night before. He had spoken of their duty, and Glorfindel had seen the wisdom in his words. Yet, in that office, he had folded Erestor in his arms and had kissed him with all the power of his love and devotion, pouring into the kiss the enduring passion of ages past. When Erestor returned, Glorfindel did not know if he would still be able to hold back all the emotions he sought to bestow on his beautiful, wonderful pen-neth.

The order to mount had been given, and once more Glorfindel's eyes were trained on that raven head. The dark elf turned in the saddle, and saw Glorfindel and he smiled. A brilliant smile, one meant for him alone. Then they were gone.

The weeks that followed went slowly, and each approaching horse, each striding messenger, was greeted by an urgent enquiry from a golden-haired lord. News filtered in slowly, speaking of successes and falls, yet the positive seemed to prevail until finally, the troops came home, tired, ragged, yet flush with victory. The joined forces of the elves of Lindon, Rivendell and Lórien had fought alongside the remaining Dúnedain, repelling the enemy from Fornost and the North Downs. Some of the faithful Dúnedain of Cardolan had also held out in Tyrn Gorthad, the Barrow-Downs, and in the nearby Forest. They had not defeated Angmar, but had subdued it so that, at least for the time being, there was peace returned to the northern realms of Men.

And when a weary raven-haired elf dismounted, it was into the welcome and healed arms of his golden lord.

 

****

 

The centuries rolled on and Rivendell still stood vigilant against the darkness. Yet it was another insidious darkness that next took its toll on the realms of Men. In 1636 a plague was sweeping Middle Earth. It had started in the lands of the Easterlings, and had been carried south by those who foolishly thought that flight would defeat it. Gondor had been ravaged and it had thence spread north through Eriador. Cardolan had been devastated, the last of the faithful Dúnedain succumbing to disease as they had not done to the dark forces. Thus the malign spirits of Angmar and Rhudaur had found free reign amongst the Barrow-Downs, imbuing that hallowed place with an evil that had not been there before.

Imladris had been inundated with requests for aid, and Elrond of course had pledged his help where he could. He first, however, had to get past the two elves guarding the entrance to the Halls of Healing.

"Really, Glorfindel, how am I supposed to help the sick if you will not let me in? There are humans and periannath who need me!"

The seneschal growled, his folded arms and firm stance gave warning of the unlikelihood of any movement away from the door. Andrann looked up at her commander in concern, perhaps wondering if a wild beast had taken over his fëa.

"This plague is affecting all creatures but elves, Elrond - but no one has said what effect it has on the half-elven. So until it has run its course, the Peredhil are excluded from these rooms. It is for your own safety, mellon-nîn."

Elrond snorted in exasperation, yet somewhat soothed by the golden lord's genuine concern for him. "I made my Choice two Ages ago, Glorfindel. I am of the Firstborn, and when I chose that path I was endowed with all the gifts of the Eldar, including that of immunity to disease. Have you ever known me to take even a cold, meldir?"

Glorfindel had to concede that he hadn't, but as yet Elrond's children had not made their choice. Finally it was decided that though Elrond could pass, the children could not.

And so it was that the elves of Imladris played their small part in aiding the stricken realms of Middle Earth.

 

****

 

By the year 1974, the Witch-king was rising to power once more. In the depths of winter the evil lord had unexpectedly sent a force down upon Arthedain, capturing its main city of Fornost and driving the remaining Dúnedain over the River Lune. The princes of Arthedain were amongst the fleeing humans, but their father King Arvedui held out with his remaining guards upon the North Downs until they were finally driven to flight. For a while the King and his men hid in the tunnels of the old-dwarf mines near the far end of the Mountains, but he was driven by hunger to seek the help of the Lossoth, a strange people who lived in the snowbound wastes of Forochel. They had pity for Arvedui and his men and gave them what they could in the way of food and shelter and thus the humans waited, praying for help to come.

The help came, in the form of a ship sent by Círdan on hearing of his plight, but the ship foundered on its return journey and the King and his men perished in the freezing, ice-ridden seas, along with the two palantiri he had in his possession. The men of Lossoth had counselled the king not to sail, but he had declined their advice, giving instead into their keeping a ring of his house, and thus the Ring of Barahir was saved for future generations.

Arvedui may have perished, yet before his death he had set in motion a reunion with his kin of the south. On the death of Gondor's king Ondoher, a direct descendant of Anarion and Elendil, and his childless sons, Arvedui had placed a claim to the throne of Gondor. This had been rejected and the crown was granted to Eärnil, who was of the royal house. Eärnil held no grudge against Arvedui, but had sent messages of friendship and promise of aid in need to his northern kin. Thus when word came to Gondor of the attacks of the Witch-king and the invasion of Arthedain, Eärnil sent his son Eärnur north with a fleet, to aid Arvedui. They arrived too late, for Arthedain had fallen and Arvedui was dead.

The arrival in 1975 of the Prince of the Southern Kingdom brought great wonder to the Grey Havens, for their ships were many and great in draught, and took up all the berths available. Great praise too there was for the tall and fair riders of horses of unparalleled strength and beauty from the land of Rhovanion. Círdan greeted them with great joy, and they sent out riders throughout Lindon and Arnor, calling all who would come to aid in the upcoming battle against the Witch-king and his evil forces of Angmar, now resident in the city of Fornost.

And Glorfindel of Rivendell heard that call.

Imladris prepared for war once more, and this time it was Glorfindel who would lead them. He brooked no opposition from Elrond and for once, Elrond gave him none.

"I have had no foresight, meldir, yet in my heart I know that this is right. You are the one to lead the elves of Imladris into battle, Glorfindel. All aid will be given unto you."

Glorfindel bowed, hand upon heart. "I will serve you and our people to the best of my ability, my lord. I will not leave Imladris unprotected though. There will be a strong force left to patrol our borders. I wish to take Andrann as my second-in-command."

"And I am going too." The voice was soft yet determined, and Glorfindel and Elrond turned to face the door, where Erestor stood. "I am going too," he repeated, a hand raised to stave off any opposition from his golden lord. "As I protected Elrond in our previous campaign, so I will act as your aide-de-camp. I know the territory and I know the foe - you will not find me a burden, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel looked at his dark love bleakly. "Ai, meleth. You will only serve me as a distraction, I fear, and take my mind away from my sword and to my destruction. I would fight better knowing that you were safe."

Erestor shook his head, reaching up to cup that firm cheek. "You have said those words to me once before, hir nîn, but then I was a spoilt and untried child. I am a warrior, tried and tested. I will not allow you to go without me. I am a warrior," he repeated. The strength in that voice would allow no dissent, so when the warriors of Imladris mounted their horses in the courtyard for the second time in a millennia, the golden hair of the seneschal of Rivendell was joined with the sable tresses of Imladris' counsellor.

The road north was long and hard, and Glorfindel and Erestor felt reassured by their mounts, for Asfaloth and Hirnîn were direct descendants of those two stallions who had graced the stables of Imladris on Glorfindel's return. In each generation of each line, there had been a colt born who had carried the colour, stature and nobility of its sire and the seneschal and counsellor had continued the tradition of repeating the name of their favoured horse. When asked about it by the young twins once, Glorfindel had smiled when he heard Erestor's answer - "We choose the same name, pin-nith, because Glorfindel and I are too old and too lazy to remember any other names!"

In this remembrance he turned to smile once more at the elf riding by his side. Although his love for the dark elf never wavered, at times they seemed especially close. There was a - foresight - in this moment, a feeling of destiny in this quest. He felt a great need to peruse the features, the beautiful sculpted outlines of his love, to memorise them forever. The fine straight nose, the arched eyebrows and those eyes… The eyes turned to him at that moment, a query in them, but he could only stare at the chocolate-brown pools and he felt as if he were drowning in their sweet depths.

"Glorfindel?" Erestor reached out to take his hand, and Glorfindel gently squeezed it.

"I love you, Erestor. Always remember that. I love you - forever."

Erestor's heart lurched at those words and he opened his mouth as if to question him but Glorfindel just shook his head and relapsed into silence.

The road was long but the elves were swift in their passage. As they drew nearer to the battlefield news came to them through outriders, news of the Witch-king's arrogance in his plans. He did not fear the approaching armies but had left his stronghold within Fornost and was riding forth to meet them, no doubt thinking that, as before, he would sweep them into the river Lune. Glorfindel's jaw clenched, and Erestor could see the tension and passion build up in the golden warrior. Always Glorfindel had shone in battle, always he had seen the battle lust arise in him. The anger at the presumption of this creature of Sauron was fermenting in the re-born warrior. The Witch-king would regret his arrogance this day.

As the host from Rivendell crested the rise they saw the action laid out before them. The Host of the West, led by Eärnur and Círdan, had swept out of the Hills of Evendim and now fought the black hordes upon the vast plain which lay between Nenuial and the north Downs, the same downs where King Arvedui had stood but the year before. The Witch-king was not in control this time. Already the Host of the West had driven back the orc army, with its support of wargs and trolls - the forces of Angmar were giving way and retreating towards their own home in the hills of Carn Dûm. The cavalry of Gondor would not allow them leave, and had chased them with a speed that made fear course through the dark creatures.

Glorfindel gave the signal, and raised such a battle cry as had never been heard on Middle Earth. The forces of Rivendell swept down the slopes onto the retreating hordes, cutting a swathe in the black ranks. Black blood spilled all about them as white arrows flew through the air from the archers of the Periannath of the Shire, finding their marks in the twisted remnants of tortured, elf-spawned orcs. A sadness always echoed through Erestor at these times, knowing that at the dawn of time his brothers had been taken and tortured to produce these vile creatures. Although these orcs were now truly beasts of the dark, yet somewhere within him the dark-haired elf could always find a prayer of regret for the damned souls who had been twisted into these forms. His twin blades raised, Erestor swung, decapitating the orcs clustering about Hirnîn, cutting a path through the vile forms. He could hear the screams of orcs, men and elves, yet it seemed that the blackness lessened under the onslaught of shining mail.

Always he took a moment in twenty to feel the whereabouts of Glorfindel through their special bond, and always he felt the bond pulse with life. It had become second nature to him and he did not need to look to know that his lord was safe. It was at one of these moments that Erestor faltered, feeling not a fracture in that bond, but a threat. Breaking off from his attacks, he looked around frantically for Glorfindel. His love was in the midst of his own battle but - oh gods - a troll approached him from his blindside, and that enormous hand was lifting a giant mace, ready to crash down on the unsuspecting lord. He did not think, but reacted instantly. Spurring hard into Hirnîn's flanks, he rode straight at the monstrous beast.

Glorfindel did not hear the commotion behind him, but could see Elrohir nearby, rising up in his stirrups in alarm. Turning in his saddle, he was just in time to see the mace swinging down not upon him, but pounding into a figure interposed between the weapon and his body - Erestor. Glorfindel screamed as Erestor's body flew from the saddle, hit as a ball in a child's game, bouncing to earth amidst the torn bodies on the rocky ground. The horse that had been beneath him was dead, its skull crushed by the force of the blow. Time slowed, crawled and he looked as the foul troll stood, a satisfied smirk on its otherwise vacuous face. Glorfindel rose, his sword circling through the air and in one motion sliced through the thick hide, cutting the beast wide open. A stunned look crossed the face of the troll, as its body crumpled to the ground in two pieces. Glorfindel took no notice but flung himself from Asfaloth's back, speeding to where his fallen love lay.

"Erestor!"

Elrohir reached Erestor at the same time, falling to his knees at the advisor's side with tears pouring down his face. He held a hysterical Glorfindel back from his love, crying out a warning to him.

"Do not touch him! See, Glorfindel, he yet breathes, but he may be badly hurt! Let me examine him as best I can." Quickly he ran his hands over the crumpled form, seeing blood pouring from a head wound, feeling for broken limbs. Glorfindel grabbed one of Erestor's hands and stroked it, crying copiously, begging his loved one to wake.

"Don't die, pen-neth! I need you! Melin le, Erestor!"

He shook in terror of losing him, losing his little Erestor as the youth had lost him. He now knew the pain, the horror Erestor must have felt in seeing him die. Was it always going to be this way? Had the Valar brought him back only to torment him? Was this his punishment again, for his attempted suicide?

Andrann by this time had arrived, and tried to pull the elf lord to his feet, shouting out the need his men had for him. Elrohir nodded, gesturing to the unconscious Erestor, feeling the press of bodies, the wrath of war coursing around their position.

"I cannot swear fully, but although I can feel some broken ribs, I think the head wound is more a surface cut. Go, Glorfindel. I will gather some men and take him to a place of safety. There are healers with us. I will not let him die, meldir. You are needed on the battlefield. Your men need you, Glorfindel of Rivendell!"

This last cut through the shock and terror of loss, and Glorfindel nodded, acknowledging his duty. Always his duty. His hated duty. One last look to reassure himself that Elrohir would look after his dark love, then he swung upon Asfaloth's back, rage filling him once more. This time it was personal.

The battle had continued around them as Glorfindel swung back into the fray. From the cries around him it was evident that the alliance of elves and men was triumphant. The black creatures were scuttling away, trying to fly beyond the reaches of the swinging weapons which cut them down. Dusk was upon them, and these beasts which so hated the light were now frantic to reach the shadows and escape to safety. A shout went up, and Glorfindel's heart lurched in cold dread. Upon the rise, the Witch-king himself had now appeared. Immediately Glorfindel knew him, this creature in black robes and black helm masking his face, seated astride a black destrier. Glorfindel knew him, and hated him, for this was an Úlairi, a Nazgûl, one of the fallen kings of men; one of the weakened leaders who had fallen prey to greed and the magical rings wrought by Sauron the Deceiver. And now a man rode up to face him, to face down this foul servant of the servant of Morgoth. Prince Eärnur, stout of heart though foolish to think he could prevail against the evil emanating from the Nazgûl, was urging his horse forward to challenge the foul creature, a fierce cry emanating from his throat. Eärnur's heart may have been strong, but the horse he rode was not, and it shied away, fleeing from the evil therein. And the Witch-king laughed, a cry that pounded fear into the hearts of all who heard it.

Save Glorfindel.

In his heart rose anger and rage beyond any that the elf lord had experienced before. A power began to flow through him as he dwelt on the horror and devastation this creature before him had wrought upon the realms of men, upon elves – upon Erestor. Now, knowing that his love lay injured, perhaps dying behind him, Glorfindel rose up in his stirrups and pressed forward, meaning to meet the Nazgûl in full battle. Asfaloth was no human-bred horse, but had the heart and soul of a Meara, and did not shy from the charge but instead brought Glorfindel forth in all his majesty.

The light that shone from the Golden Lord was bright and pure, and was born of the grace imbued him by the Valar upon his rebirth. He stood tall in the saddle, raising his broadsword high, and a flame shot through the weapon, setting it ablaze with white fire. White light shone from his sapphire orbs as Glorfindel fulfilled his destiny. Glorfindel, seneschal of Rivendell. Glorfindel, Lord of the Golden Flower. Glorfindel, Re-Born Warrior of Gondolin.

Glorfindel Unleashed.

"Hear me, thou spawn of evil! Know now, this day, that thou and thy evil master will *never* prevail within this world. Ultimately your reign will fall, and you will be cast down lower than the stones and rocks that abound this place. For we are the Children of Ilúvatar, Eldar and Edain, true children of the creator of Arda, and thou art but the misbegotten slave of his fallen servant. We will *always* stand against thee, we will *always* hold back the dark. For darkness is but the absence of light and behold, we shall bring the light, and there will be nowhere left to hide!"

At that the Witch-king was filled with fear, seeing in this mighty elf-lord the power and light of the Valar, and with a cry he turned his beast and fled the field into the looming dark, bringing his cringing minions to despair. When Eärnur would have pursued Glorfindel held him back. White light still shone from his unseeing eyes, and his voice resounded with the force of the Blessed Ones.

"Do not pursue him! He will not return to this land. Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall."

The prince had to obey, for the elf before him was no elf at this moment but the Vessel of the Valar, and Glorfindel carried within him the power of the faithful of Ilúvatar. Eärnur, though, felt strongly his disgrace and swore to be avenged upon the Witch-king - but that battle was for the future.

This battle was over and the forces of elves and men cleared the field of the remnants of the crushed forces of the Nazgûl. Yet Glorfindel could not leave, could not return to his love, for he needed to meet with the leaders of the other armies, to ensure that all duties were fulfilled. Eärnur glowered in his anger against the reborn lord.

"I could have taken him! It was my right to kill him."

Glorfindel looked straight at the man. Though his sapphire eyes had regained their original hue, he still felt the presence of the Valar within him. He shook his head slowly.

"You could not have killed him, hir nîn. There was no one on this field today who could have killed the Nazgûl, not even I. Do not take more sorrow on your soul, Prince Eärnur. There has been too much death and destruction within this realm. Too many injured, dying…"

The pain was obvious in Glorfindel's voice and Círdan reached to grasp his arm in alarm.

" Mellon-nîn, do not tell me… Ai, is Erestor…?"

Glorfindel shook his head, unable to articulate his fears. "He took a blow meant for me. He sacrificed himself for me. Elrohir was with him. I know not if he still lives…" The tears began to flow and the depth of the love that had spanned millennia humbled the human prince. Círdan patted Glorfindel helplessly.

"I have no words to say, meldir, save that my prayers are with you both. I will delay you no longer except to ask a boon. Arvedui's son, Aranarth, has said that he will not take up his crown and rule from Fornost, for the Dúnedain are now too few in number. He has taken the title of Chieftain and will lead his people in exile. Yet he has a young son, and he longs to find for him a place of safety. Will Elrond accept Arahael as a fosterling in Imladris? For there too we must deposit the heirlooms of the realm of Arnor; the ring of Barahir; the star of Elendil; the sceptre of Annúminas - and the shards of Narsil, the sword that cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand."

Glorfindel bowed his head, feeling the weight of history and the heaviness of his fears bear down upon his now drained body.

"Never will Elrond of Imladris refuse succour to the descendants of his brother. I will take the child and the heirlooms of which you spoke. They will find a home in Rivendell for as long as they wish, and perhaps one day a King of Arnor will rise again."

They would delay Glorfindel no longer and, with a last embrace, Círdan sent him back to his warriors, back to Elrohir - and back to Erestor. Wherever crowds stood in his path they parted, both elves and men bowing acknowledgement of the grace of this servant of Valinor. Yet Glorfindel could pay them no heed. Instead he focused only on his bond with his soulmate, and despaired to feel the weakness of the pulse of life. It was so weak at times that he wondered if it was only an echo or a wishful thought, and that perhaps in truth Erestor was gone. Tears rolled down his anguished face without heed as he trod across that plain, until at last he stood outside the healing tent, which was guarded by Andrann.

"He is within, my lord," she said, and there was a trembling in that voice which told of her empathy for her beloved commander. "Lords Elrohir and Elladan are with him." She pulled aside the tent flap and Glorfindel entered.

There were many lamps lit, and they shone on the multitude of elves lying within, all having sustained various injuries in the battle. The healers were at work amongst them, but Glorfindel had eyes for only one. Erestor lay on a cot, paler than the snows of winter. His torso was bared and his raven hair was unbound, spread like a velvet cloth over the rough pillow. Black bruising was starting to appear on his face and body, and his ribs were bound. At the strangled cry of the golden lord, Elrohir rose from Erestor's side.

"Glorfindel, do not despair. All is not as ill as it seems," he said quietly, holding the trembling hand of the shaking lord. "We feel that the mace hit him in the same direction that Hirnîn was travelling, therefore his momentum absorbed a lot of the blow. He has cracked many ribs, which is why his breathing is shallow, for the pain must be great. However…as yet he has not regained consciousness, therefore we can risk no herbs to relieve his pain. The bindings are not usual for broken ribs, but it would be best if he were to be returned to my father's care soonest, and so the bindings are to support him when we place him in a wagon." He paused, wondering if Glorfindel had heard a word that he had said, for the sapphire eyes had not wavered from their focus on the dark elf.

"It is not all bad news, Glorfindel," Elrohir urged. "There is no blood on his breath, nor swelling of his belly to indicate bleeding within him. His heart is regular. It is only…" He paused, not sure how to phrase the next part. "He has not woken, Glorfindel, so we do not know if his brain has been affected. See, he sleeps with his eyes closed, yet we cannot tell if it is a healing sleep. Only time will tell us that, mellon-nîn."

Glorfindel nodded, understanding both the comfort and the warning. He knelt beside the cot, taking the small, slender hand of his love, cradling it softly within his own palm. Calloused fingers gently lifted the dark strands away from that fine-boned face.

"Erestor, pen-neth, will you not wake? Will you not look at me with your glorious eyes? I need you, Erestor. Melin le. Please, my love, come back to me."

No one within hearing could hold back the tears at the love and need so evident in the golden lord's plea. Glorfindel would not move from Erestor's side and so Andrann, and the twin Peredhil when they could be spared from the healing tent, took command of the troops of Imladris and prepared them for the long march home.

The night was long and Glorfindel alternated between reflective silence and quiet words, speaking aloud reminiscences of times past, shared times of love and joy with this elf who meant everything to him. It was near dawn when a moan broke from between those rose-red lips. Glorfindel was alert immediately.

"Erestor? Pen-neth?"

The lush dark lashes parted, and the soft brown eyes fell upon the golden lord.

"Glo'fin'l?"

Tears poured from Glorfindel's eyes, tears of happiness and relief that his love was awake, and recognised him. He hurried to reassure the dark elf.

"Hush, pen-neth, you must rest. You are hurt and need to conserve your strength, my love."

Erestor would not be calmed. "You… are not …hurt? I saw the blow… I saw it start to …fall…"

"No, pen-neth. You saved me. You saved my life, but I near lost you in return."

Glorfindel pressed the sweet hand to his lips, needing to feel that precious flesh against his own skin. Erestor smiled weakly.

"Then I am… redeemed. Now … now I may ask… for forgiveness…"

Glorfindel remonstrated with his love. "No, Erestor! There was never need for forgiveness! You did no wrong! I have always loved you, ind-nîn. I always will!"

Erestor did not answer, for he had fallen back into a peaceful rest, a gentle smile curving on his rose-red lips. Elrohir came up behind Glorfindel, beaming with joy at the moment.

"Now we know he will mend, meldir. He will soon be in your arms once more."

"Aye," growled Glorfindel, possessive in his reclaimed love. "I have him, and I will hold him. And no one, be they Valar or not, will ever separate us again!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> The premise for this chapter was taken from Appendix A, ‘The Lord of the Rings', and the history of the Kings of Arnor and Gondor. I have embellished Glorfindel's role in this chapter for the purpose of my story and placed my own twist on his actions. The speech to the Witch-king is my own work, but the prophecy of Glorfindel is taken direct from the text.
> 
>  
> 
> Elvish: (by Nienna and Andrannath)
> 
> meldir - friend  
> meleth - love  
> pen-neth - little one  
> hir nîn - my lord  
> meleth-nîn - my love  
> mellon-nîn - my friend  
> pin-nith - little ones.  
> melin le - I love you  
> ind-nîn - my heart


	15. Chapter 15

T.A.1975

 

The road home to Imladris was long, made longer by the slow speed of the wagons, but Glorfindel was not worried. Each day that he could spend by the side of his recovering love filled him with happiness, and he cherished every moment. Elladan and Andrann had gone ahead with the main body of the army, taking the young Dúnedain, Arahael, with them to safety. Elrohir had stayed back with the healers and a small body of men to protect the wounded, and Glorfindel had simply refused to leave Erestor - though Erestor had chided him about it.

"I will be fine," he assured his meleth, from his cot within the slow-moving wagon. "Elrohir has given me plenty of medication to ease my pain, and my breathing has returned almost to normal. I would not have you neglect your duty for me."

Glorfindel gave a mock frown, looking down from his position on Asfaloth's back. "Ai, Master Erestor, and do you not think it is my duty to give a fine escort to those most excellent elves who have been injured in a dangerous and deadly battle? Nay, I pay my respects to those who travel alongside you. You do not think that I would stay back just to comfort a half-blind elf who does not look to see whether he will blunder into an angry troll?" There was merriment in his voice and a twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes and Erestor could not help but laugh - then wince as his ribs made forcible complaint. Glorfindel immediately reached in anxiety for his love but Erestor waved him back.

"Nay, meleth, I will be fine - *if* you stop making me laugh!" His face softened, and those rose-red lips curved into a sweet smile. "Though indeed, seeing you smile is the best medicine I could ever possibly want."

Glorfindel reached across once more, stroking that creamy skin, cradling the soft cheek. " And *you* are all that I ever want, pen- vuin. Nothing and nobody will ever part us again. I promise." Those sapphire eyes had darkened and Erestor felt the desire emanating from the golden lord, desire that welled forth in him too. Yet Erestor hardly dared hope that they could finally be together, finally share their love in a physical and permanent bond. 

"What about your oath, my lord?" he said hesitantly. " I would not want you foresworn -"

Glorfindel leant down, claiming those soft lips with his own, sending Erestor's unfinished words into oblivion as the dark elf surrendered to the passion of that kiss. As the kiss ended, Glorfindel repeated his words with a ferocity that would have put a dozen Nazgûl to flight.

"Nothing," he said. "And nobody."

 

****

 

Glorfindel had to eat his words on their arrival back at the Last Homely House Elrond had taken one look at Erestor and had ordered that he be taken to a room within the Halls of Healing. 

"Erestor needs rest, mellon-nîn. I know you, and I know that you will not give him that if you hover around him constantly. At least a week, I would say. His ribs are almost healed, but I want to check his lungs, and to give him some inhalants which may open his air passages more effectively. I should check his head injury too, but I can see that he is still madly in love with you - the emphasis being on the 'mad' - therefore I must assume he is otherwise recovered in that way."

The infectious joy seemed to have affected Elrond as well, and Glorfindel could only grin in feigned embarrassment. As his access to Erestor was somewhat curtailed, he resigned himself to taking up his duties as seneschal once more, to the relief of his captain. Thus his days were full, rising before dawn to take the early patrol, and then returning to lunch with Erestor. The afternoon was a time of prescribed treatment for Erestor and Glorfindel used that time to catch up on his hated paperwork.

"And no, Glorfindel, you *cannot* bring them into the healing rooms for Erestor to do!" Elrond had remonstrated when he had one day done precisely that.

"Oh, but I don't mind..." Erestor had tried to interject, but he was shot down by Elrond's elevated eyebrow.

"No! When you have recovered you will find plenty of work in your office. Poor Saelbeth has had to recruit a young assistant to try to keep the paperwork from toppling off his desk; it has piled up so high in your absence. Melpomaen is a fine young elf, but I think the scribes of this House have a new respect for your hard work, meldir!"

Every evening was a delight for them though. The cooks had always had a soft spot for the gentle counsellor and sent him all his favourite food in double quantities, so that they could both feast on the excellent cuisine. They whiled away their time playing chess, or talking and once, Lindir had come into the Halls and entertained all those recovering there with melodies and lyrics to ease their pains.

Happiness too came in the form of the arrival of Mithrandir, and Glorfindel was glad to see him. The Istar shared with the household of Elrond the relief at the fall of Angmar, but he especially seemed to want to speak to both Glorfindel and Erestor - privately. The time never seemed right, until late one morning at the end of the week when he spotted Glorfindel about to leave the main house to go to Erestor for their usual lunchtime meal.

"Glorfindel, my old friend! Will you not take a few moments to have a drink with me?" the grey wizard called from his chair on the veranda. Glorfindel turned but hesitated, and Mithrandir knew why. His blue eyes, like a lake in summer, twinkled with mirth, knowing full well the dilemma in Glorfindel's mind. "I saw Erestor this morning whilst you were gone and I think that he is now undergoing one of Elrond's interminable treatments."

Knowing the need that his beloved had for these breathing exercises, Glorfindel finally nodded in acquiescence. He quickly mounted the steps to the veranda, taking a comfortable seat beside his old friend. He took the proffered glass from the wizard with a thankful nod, sipping the refreshing fruit drink.

"So," began the Maia, "are you satisfied with the outcome of recent events? That it is all over?"

Glorfindel looked at him through lidded eyes.

"Is it over, Mithrandir? Was that my appointed task? I cannot believe that the Valar sent me back just to hurl a few insults at a fallen king. Four thousand years of loneliness, and loss, and separation from my soul, for that?" 

His voice was scornful and doubting. As much as he loved this 'old man' in front of him, his heart was still filled with doubt where his use to the Valar was concerned. Mithrandir nodded, his visage taking on a serious if sad look, and Glorfindel saw in him the restrained power and wisdom of Ages uncounted. The Grey Pilgrim leaned forward.

"It was not only the words you spoke, but the force you gave and the meaning they held. The Valar are bound to their own oath, Glorfindel, not to interfere directly in the affairs of Middle Earth. Too many times they have taken that approach and first Melkor, then Sauron have worked against their well-meaning intervention. Even I, and my brethren, have been forced to restrain the use of the powers we could have brought to bear. This Age is the Age of Men and, to a small extent, of the Elves. It is your words and deeds that have shown the Dark Lord and his minions that the Light will never be defeated. *You* are part of that Light, Glorfindel - a physical representation of the determination of Eldar and Edain to prevail against the evil forces of Sauron. Upon that battlefield you carried the essence of Valinor, as well as the power of a Firstborn, and of a Re-Born Lord of Gondolin. The Valar to some extent spoke through you, but *you* had to formulate the words to be spoken and generate within you the force with which they were delivered. The Captain of Sauron ran from that power, Glorfindel, ran like a whipped dog with his tail between his legs. His personal downfall will come to him in the future; have no doubt. You have given hope to the Children of Ilúvatar. As another will give them a new Hope, one day."

Glorfindel felt humbled by the speech, realising that his resentment of his duty had blinded him to the result of his confrontation with the Nazgûl. Mithrandir leaned forward once more, but the smile on his lips did not cover the conflict that obviously still lay within him.

"And so, my friend - you have done your duty. Your oath is fulfilled, and yet - the Valar would ask more of you, if you will but hear it?" Glorfindel began to protest but the grey wizard raised a wrinkled hand to beg his peace. "No, my friend - fear not. It is only a request, not a demand, and it is one that you must discuss with your soul mate first. The struggle is not yet over. Sauron has returned, I fear, and will not go away just for our wishing it. By taking in young Arahael, Elrond has committed this house to the protection of the heirs of Isildur, their education and direction. There will be many, but ultimately they will lead to the One. The sword that was broken *will* be re-forged, and the young edain who must wield that sword will need your skill, as will the House of Elrond. 

"You and Erestor are now free of all that has held you back. The choice of the direction of your future belongs to you both. You could travel, see Middle Earth, or return to the Undying Lands - but will you perhaps not consider staying here, in Imladris, and help Elrond in protecting this elf haven, this refuge, and the future king of Men?"

Glorfindel could not think. No indeed, he could hardly breathe. It was true! It was true and he was free! His mind whirled, settling on only one thought. Erestor. His beloved. His - melethron - at last? Glorfindel stood abruptly, knowing only that he had to go to Erestor, right now. They were free!

"Excuse me, Mithrandir - but I must - I have to-"

The wizard laughed, his heart lifted by the unleashed excitement his old friend was exhibiting.

"Go, my friend, go -"

He needed no permission. Glorfindel vaulted over the rail of the veranda and treated the startled elves below to the spectacle of the seneschal of Imladris running at full pelt down the hill, golden tresses flying in the wind. He scarcely slowed as he reached the entrance to the Healing Halls, flinging himself through the doors and down to the room where Erestor lay.

It was empty. The bed was stripped and the shelves were bare. His heart pounded as panic rose within him, only to be assuaged a moment later as a young apprentice came in with fresh bedding.

"Oh, are you looking for Master Erestor, my lord? Lord Elrond released him from the Halls but an hour ago, I think he has returned to his rooms in the main House..."

Glorfindel did not wait to hear the young ellon's words but continued his flight back to the house, mounting the stairs to the family wing two at a time. He finally came to a halt at Erestor's door.

What to do? How to proceed? Glorfindel realised that he had dreamed of this moment for nigh on two millennia, yet he did not know the words he was going to say. 

'I have fulfilled my oath, my love. Now come to bed so that I can fill you' ?

Glorfindel snorted at the vision, so giddy in his relief and joy that his mind was filled with the most ludicrous thoughts. He now took a moment to breathe deeply, to calm himself so that this moment could be filled with the depth of meaning it deserved. He turned the handle on the door and walked in.

" Erestor?"

There was no answer. He glanced around, recognizing that today was the first day that he had set foot in these chambers. He looked around, trying to sense the presence of his beloved. Erestor was not here, he realised. He looked with increased interest at the décor, seeing in the creamy walls and dark wood furniture a reflection of his love's colouring. The stark contrast was softened by the use of pillows of different textures - wool, silks, even soft white furs. Mixed with them were cushions of deep reds and golden hues. A glance into the bedchamber showed the same neutral colours, but he smiled when he saw, in a place of honour upon the dresser, the statuette of Hirnîn. Elladan had returned the gift to Erestor with no little embarrassment some time after his majority, when the Peredhel had belatedly found it in a discarded box of toys from his childhood. There had been no real damage done during the boyhood games, and Glorfindel saw that it was lovingly polished and cherished. Erestor had been saddened when he had realised the fate of the poor horse of that name that had him carried on the field of Evendim, but was consoled to know that the noble beast had left a colt grazing in the paddocks of Imladris.

A quick glance around the bathing room showed a similar starkness, though Glorfindel was pleased to find sandlewood as one of the perfumed oils at the side of the bath. Erestor's study was as neat as his office, filled with scrolls and books revealing his preferred pastimes and studies. Returning to the main drawing room Glorfindel began to feel worried when he suddenly noticed the two items on the side table - an open carved wood box, and a cream parchment - folded, sealed - which rested upon it. His name was inscribed on the parchment in Erestor's hand.

A tremor of fear suddenly ran through Glorfindel. What now, when all was resolved? Why this message from Erestor? A faint heart had never won any battles, and so Glorfindel picked up the letter and broke the seal.

'My love,' he read. 'Do not fear, for I am not gone far. Mithrandir came to me this morning when you were on patrol and told me all. At last we are free. At last we can be together. I find that I am suddenly overwhelmed and so I have gone for a walk, gone to sort my jumbled thoughts. I have few secrets left, my love - yet I have one more to confess to you, one that I hope that will help you will understand the events of the first year of your return. You have heard my story, from Elrond, from Díwen. This last *I* must speak to you. 

'If you will it, I will come to your chamber this evening. As a signal that you wish for this meeting, please take the ring that you find in the box. Yes, my heart. It is our ring. I never lost it, never gave it away. I could not, for it was one of my last links to you. The other object that used to lie beside it I have taken and placed around my neck. Finally, I feel worthy to wear it.

'You hold my heart, Glorfindel. You are my soul. Melin le, Glorfindel.'

There was no signature. It did not need it. Glorfindel lifted the parchment, pressed it to his lips, then laid it aside. He looked at the box and saw the ring within. The mithril ring, the ring he had placed upon Erestor's finger on that last fateful day. Gently he stroked it, then grasped it lightly and lifted it, examining the unblemished shine with loving eyes. He hesitated then placed it in a pocket in his tunic. He would not wear it, for only one elf could do that now. Looking one last time into the box he saw an empty indentation in the velvet lining, oval in shape, and a pattern beside it that looked like the links of a heavy chain. He gently closed the lid, then with a happy smile left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

 

****

 

The time passed slowly and Glorfindel prowled through his rooms like a caged lion. He checked every last detail - the flowers in their bowls, the candles lit and ready for the dusk, plates of sweetmeats scattered on tables, wine opened and glasses polished. The phial of oil by the bed. He looked at his own garb, a simple white tunic over blue leggings and soft house shoes. His hair was brushed and brushed again, burnished gold, unbound and swaying into the curve of his back. Oh, and one last item.

The ring, placed in the centre of a small circular table of dark wood, shining bright in its contrast. Perfect. 

Now, the only thing - the only *one* - missing was Erestor.

There was a small tap at the door, and Glorfindel crossed the floor in two strides and flung it wide, a smile of welcome and relief to see the elf standing there. Erestor was beautiful. No, he was more than beautiful. He was stunning. His waist-length raven hair was unbound, and shone with the lustre of burnished ebony, red highlights reflecting the candlelight. He wore a tunic of deep forest green, embroidered at collar and cuffs with copper braid, warming his creamy skin. Dark brown leggings gave the contrast of earthy colours and his delicate feet were shod with forest green slippers also embroidered in copper. He was beautiful. He was stunning. He was unearthly. He was perfect. 

Glorfindel found it difficult to restrain himself, to stop himself lifting and carrying this most perfect of Ilúvatar's children to the huge bed within, to lay him upon it and ravish him with all the love and lust and desire and want of more than four thousand years. So near, so near, yet Glorfindel *did* restrain himself, for within those chocolate-brown pools he saw a hesitation, and he knew that there was one last thing for Erestor to tell him, one last obstacle in their path - then he would have him forever. He stood back and allowed Erestor to enter.

The dark elf glanced about the room, seeing the devotion and care that had been put into the preparations for this evening and his heart rose in spirit. With a gentle smile on his face he turned to face the elf that he had loved, and lost, and loved again.

"Thank you, Glorfindel," he said softly, and to Glorfindel it was as if a bird had trilled a sweet tune. "Thank you for understanding that I need - I need to tell you something. To tell you one last thing."

Glorfindel sensed that Erestor was uneasy, and gestured to the nearby day bed. "Please Erestor, seat yourself, and I will sit in this chair over here. I will listen to what you need to say." He moved slowly, as if he were afraid of frightening this delicate bird. Erestor followed his motions, and sat carefully on the edge of the daybed, his hands in his lap, gently ringing them together. Glorfindel saw the action. What was it that Erestor feared? He waited silently, knowing that whatever it was, the outcome of the night would be the same. Nothing that Erestor could say would ever change his feelings for his pen- neth.

"I know that Elrond told you of my history from the time I arrived in Lindon," the soft voice began, "and Díwen told you of my time of grief and madness. What they did not tell you they could not tell you, for until this night I have spoken of it to no one. I could not, for it was something that was seared on my sight and my heart forever." The voice faded slightly, and the anguish of millennia resonated in those soft tones. Glorfindel maintained his silence, for the moment seemed to demand it.

"After you fell, on the cliffs of Cirith Thoronath, I screamed until I could scream no more. You were gone, and so was my soul, my heart, my mind. I was a shell, empty, unseeing - yet I saw. I did not recognise that what my unseeing eyes saw that dawn I would see forever, for my sight recorded those moments unknowing to my mind." There was a pause, a hesitation, and then Erestor began once more. "The eagles came. Thorondor came, and lifted your body from the abyss. It was unrecognisable. It was black, burnt, charred. The heat twisted into horrific contortions what were once your strong limbs; your broad chest was shrivelled and burnt, as the breast of an ox charred on the turning spit. Your golden hair was no more, save for black strands of stubble on the malformed head. And your sapphire eyes, once shining like the fabled jewels of the Noldor, naught but blackened holes. All that was you, was gone. And I had caused that."

Glorfindel choked, tried to protest but a pleading look from Erestor stalled his attempt.

"I know. I understand now. After I broke down in Elrond's arms on the anniversary of Tarnin Austa, he told me that it was not my fault and, after we made our peace, you and I, Elrond counselled me many times over many months. It was not my fault, but still my heart would not forgive me. I have despaired of ever ridding myself of this guilt, of ever truly entering the fold of your arms with an open and unburdened heart and yet - now I feel I have a chance. Now I have found a way.

"When I saw that troll attack you on the plain of Evendim I reacted instinctively. I could not stand by and let harm come to the one who I loved above life itself. I spurred Hirnîn on, and I took the blow that would have ended your life for a second time. When I woke and saw you beside me, your face so taut with fear, I knew that my action had succeeded and I had saved you - and perhaps saved myself. In saving you I felt that my action had redeemed me, redeemed my worth in your eyes so I ask you now, Glorfindel. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive the foolish, selfish youth I was then? Can you forgive me for not saving you then, since I have saved you now, here in our new time?"

Glorfindel bit back the response that had flown to his lips. Erestor was never to blame. There was nothing to forgive. But those were not the words that his little love needed to hear. He gathered the strength and the will to speak those words now.

"I forgive you, Erestor. I love you and I forgive you, and I beg you to forgive yourself, meleth-nîn."

It was gone. The guilt was gone. It had flown and Erestor's heart and soul were clear. The sobs came out suddenly, heavily, with thousands of years of pain and self-reproach expelling their darkness from his body. Erestor barely felt Glorfindel's arms close around him, barely recognised the soothing words of love in the heaving, sobbing joy of his release. It seemed to last forever, but finally it faded as Glorfindel pressed those beloved lips to forehead, hair, cheeks, lips, stroking his unbound locks, rocking him, soothing him. Finally it faded, and Erestor was cradled in peace in his beloved's arms.

"Ai Erestor, I love you so, my pen- neth, my sweet love."

Erestor turned in his arms, turned to face those eyes, so brilliant and blue, and he knew that he would never see those blackened holes again. "I love you too, Glorfindel." 

Glorfindel smiled. "Then there is one last thing I ask, my love. What of our ring? What do you want to do with it?" He gestured with his head, glancing over at the table where it lay, solitary in its splendour. Erestor blushed.

"I had hoped... I prayed... that you would place it on my finger again, as symbol of - of our joining?"

Glorfindel shook his head, but smiled to forestall the shock he knew he would engender in Erestor. 

"Go pick it up pen- neth. Go on," he encouraged. Erestor rose, uncertain of Glorfindel's meaning, but he picked the ring up from the table. "Now," continued the golden lord, "place the ring on the index finger of your left hand, Erestor. The betrothal finger." Hesitantly the dark elf did as he was instructed, gazing uncertainly at the ring which was upon his finger for the first time in four millennia. Glorfindel rose, came to him and gathered Erestor firmly into his arms. He looked down into those chocolate-brown eyes, certainty and love abundant in his gaze. 

"I swore, when I last placed that ring upon your finger, that the next time I would do so would be on our binding day. I would wed you, Erestor of Gondolin, of Lindon and of Imladris. I would bind with you in all honour and light and in the presence of our friends and family. Will you, my love? One year hence, will you take me as your bound mate, until the world's end?"

There was no hesitation now, no demurring. 

"I will, Glorfindel of Gondolin and Rivendell. I would be bound to you, forever."

That was enough. They were the words that Glorfindel had longed to hear and he would wait no longer. 

"Then we will bind, my love, in one year. But tonight - tonight I claim you. Tonight, I make you mine."

Bending his head he placed his lips on those rose-red ones, brushing them lightly, teasing and tantalising in their soft exploration. His tongue flicked out lightly, tasting the sweet salt of Erestor's skin, prising the willing lips apart so that he could delve into the moist cavern.

Erestor could bear the teasing touch no more and pulled his lord close in a tight grip, increasing the pulsing pressure of that mouth, claiming it fervently. He welcomed that sweeping tongue, revelled in its motions, and his hands crept up to Glorfindel's neck, lacing at the nape, entangled in the soft strands of sunshine. Erestor pressed the length of his lithe body forward against the giant frame, begging for its domination by the lord of his heart.

Despite their desire, so long delayed, the two elves did not rush. No, this was a time to be savoured, every moment etched on their memories; mapped on their skin; writ upon their hearts ; seared upon their one soul. Hands wandered, stroked, pulsed in their explorations. Each curve was counted; each pulse was paced. Light touches to the tips of sensitive ears elicited breathless gasps; soft suckling at the base of a throat brought forth red marks of possession and yearning groans of desire. Careful fingers undid yielding clasps - gently, efficiently - exposing creamy throats, golden muscles. Glorfindel smiled, blinking back unbidden tears when he recognised that mithril locket, emblazoned with a golden celandine. He leaned forward and kissed that precious gift, glowing in the knowledge that the keeper of his soul had kept this little trinket given with such love.

Erestor wrapped his arms around the generous torso, feeling the strong sinews of a well-honed physique - and feeling those scars. Never again would he run from them, for now they were part of him as he was part of Glorfindel. He accepted them, luxuriated in their rough texture and stroked them soothingly. They were one, they were nearly one, and now nothing could come between them.

Their desire was rising beyond tolerance; the urge to unite was overwhelming. Shoes had been slipped off, leggings unlaced and discarded and their revealed members pressed hard and firm in eloquent need against their exposed flesh. The two elves stood, revealed in all their glory in the dying rays of the sun. Glorfindel let one hand slip down, hold tight underneath the firm buttock and lifted his love easily, cradling him against his body. Erestor lifted his legs, wrapped them around Glorfindel's waist and rested his sable head against the strong shoulder as the golden lord brought him into the bedchamber and laid him gently upon that waiting bed.

"Magnificent," Glorfindel breathed, his fervent eyes devouring the beauty of his little love as he lay against the pure white cottons and deep green velvets. The sun had followed them, pouring in homage through the open casements and the roar of the cascades were but a murmur as tribute was paid to the exquisite beauty of this elf. His elf.

Erestor raised his arms, his hands beckoning his love forward, down, laying his heavy form over him.

"Make me yours, Glorfindel. Melin le, melin le."

There was no hesitation as the golden elf growled his response.

"You *are* mine. Mine, Erestor. All mine..."

There was no escape, though he wanted none. There was no ease, though he begged for none. Glorfindel devoured him, ate him, swallowed him whole. The hands and lips moved without ceasing, every inch of flesh was touched, taken, used. Erestor writhed, gasping for air in the heat of lust and love. Nipples were teased, licked, touched, suckled, swathed in moisture and want. Arching bodies entwined in rapture and Erestor cried out in his ecstasy, then screamed as his swollen member was taken into a hot mouth. His hands flailed, grasped and twisted the golden strands as the mouth moved slowly, quickly, taking the whole length of purple need to the back of Glorfindel's throat; then slipping back to the throbbing head, licking at the slit, tongue tasting the copious pre-come weeping from its tip. Up and down, its rhythm increasing, Erestor thrust up again and again, crying out in rapturous torture. He barely noticed when a slick finger slid between his cheeks, explored down the cleft to rest against the puckered opening. Gently it pressed against the pink rose and unconsciously Erestor raised and widened his thighs to permit its entry. He did not know what to make of the feeling; for though there was no pain the pressure was - unusual. A frown creased his forehead and he resented the pressure for it took away from the delirious pleasure that wet warm mouth was bringing him. He squirmed away from it - and yelped in shock as the finger stroked against a spot inside him. The warm mouth curved in a wicked smile on his engulfed member and the finger moved again.

Yes! Oh gods, yes. Yes. Hot darts of pleasure shuddered through him. Yes. He pressed down, wanted to feel it again. Yes! It was too much. Yes! He couldn't take it. Yes! He lurched, rocking between that moist heat and that pleasing digit, overcome, sobbing with need.

Yes !!

"GLORFINDEL!"

Erestor soared like one of Mithrandir's sky-rockets and detonated in an expanding orgasm of exploding stars; shooting his bittersweet completion into Glorfindel's mouth, down his welcoming throat as he whirled in a plane above that of the heavens. He could not sense as his love licked him clean, did not feel that finger leave his body, could hardly comprehend when it returned with an oiled companion and started to stroke, stretch him, twist within his puckered entrance. Glorfindel leaned over him and claimed his gasping mouth, taking what little breath he had left. He felt the hardness of Glorfindel's unrelieved member pressing against his thigh.

" Meleth... you have... not come," he gasped when he could breathe again. Glorfindel's sapphire eyes shone down in to his, a glorious smile curving the firm lips.

"I will, my love, I will. May I take you, melethron? I long to fill you, I long to join with you, to be complete..."

A thrill of nervous pleasure ran through Erestor. This was it! He nodded, his desire tempered with apprehension, but Glorfindel reached down to claim his lips once more and he knew that he wanted this, wanted it more than anything, and he gave himself completely into Glorfindel's hands.

Glorfindel leaned back and took Erestor's now-flaccid shaft into his large hand, and started to stroke it gently whilst he turned his large fingers within that precious hole. He removed them and dipped them in the oil, smiling as Erestor groaned in complaint, then reinserted them, three this time. He was thorough, and he used the varying speed of his stroke to distract Erestor from any discomfort his large fingers might bring in their widening of the heated passage. For Erestor was small and Glorfindel was not. In only a short time he knew that he had done what he could, and that he would have to take care in his penetration of his love. He removed his fingers from the body and instead lifted and parted his lover's legs, bringing them wide and high around his waist. He took a copious amount of oil and coated his bulging, neglected shaft, then placed his large hands on either side of Erestor, leaning over that beloved body. As he pressed forward he felt a resistance in the surrounding guardian ring, but Erestor simply smiled up at him, total trust and love emanating from the liquid chocolate eyes. Glorfindel groaned as the swollen head of his member slipped past that ring and into Erestor, his heart bursting with joy at finally, finally, being in his love.

He rested for a few seconds, allowing Erestor to grow accustomed to the penetration, and then delved slowly forward until he was totally engulfed in moist heat. Erestor was gasping beneath him, his slender fingers gripping tight into the muscles of his shoulders. He paused, revelling in the moment, allowing Erestor to adjust to his wide girth. When he felt the tension of Erestor's inner muscles relax, Glorfindel started to move, slowly, deliciously, in tiny rocking motions; adjusting until he felt Erestor buck beneath him as he once more stroked that tiny gland from within. He maintained the angle, increasing his pace only when his little love started to press back, to seek his strokes avidly in his desire to attain that height of pleasure once more. It was almost too much for the golden lord, this combination of heat and moisture embracing him and it took great restrain not to thrust wildly into this body for which he had yearned. Sweat beaded his body, dripping down his forehead but he took no notice, his moans of pleasure expressing his need. His golden hair swirled forth between them, stroking Erestor's chest and adding to the sensations shuddering through the dark elf's frame. Erestor was moving, shifting, thrashing his head from side to side, his raven locks flying in the power of the vibrations thrumming along his nerves. The little cries grew loud, yelling, calling his name, pleading for release as those slender hands gripped and tore at the white sheets in his exquisite torture. Glorfindel could not resist those calls and he curled his hand around Erestor's demanding cock, weeping once more, and stroked it. Deep, strong, firm strokes; deep, diving, demanding thrusts.

Glorfindel unleashed all that he was, all that was contained in his soul, all his repressed love of four millennia in his frantic lunges. Unleashed it and freed it as his soul soared. Erestor let go too, let go with all his passion, all his desire for this wonderful elf - and his soul soared too.

Though neither had said the words of binding, though neither had quoted those phrases normally needed to unite two souls, the Valar had heard them. Erestor screamed his soul-mate's name once more as the hot cream spilled over Glorfindel's firm hand. The contractions of inner muscles gripped Glorfindel's shaft and he was taken over that edge, he flung himself into the flight of fulfilment, crying out for the only one who had ever held his heart - his pen- neth.

"Glorfindel!" 

"Erestor!"

Their souls soared, divided, then recombined as they fell, gently cradled in Varda's hands, back down into their replete bodies. Neither noticed the tiny stars that fell with them, sparkling in acknowledgement of the true love that had finally been expressed, acknowledged, and completed. 

Their souls were one, and they were united.

Forever.

 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish :
> 
> meleth - love  
> pen- vuin - dear one  
> mellon-nîn - my friend  
> meldir - friend  
> melethron - male lover  
> pen- neth - little one  
> meleth-nîn - my love  
> meleth - love


	16. Chapter 16

T.A. 1975 - 1976

 

The presence of daylight was beginning to impinge upon Glorfindel's reverie. In an attempt to deny its arrival, Glorfindel shifted to turn away from the light - then winced as a sharp ache emanated from his lower body. What the -? He paused in his movement, then a slow smile spread across his face as he remembered the events of the night before. Their lovemaking had not stopped with that first and most wonderful union, for the repressed passions of millennia could not be satisfied in just one intercourse. No indeed, there had followed numerous enthusiastic re-unions, until Glorfindel had finally expressed a concern for the safety of his beautiful pen- neth. At which point his insatiable melethron had climbed upon *him* and had insisted on 'completing the circle' - and returning the copious favours that Glorfindel had bestowed upon him that night. Glorfindel's grin widened, and he heard a melodious chuckle beside his ear. Vision focussing, he turned his head to see glorious chocolate-brown eyes twinkling in that sweet face. Erestor lay turned upon his side, his head propped on one hand, his raven hair tumbling wildly over his shoulders. 

" Maer aur, pen- neth, how are you this morning?" Glorfindel said softly, rising up on his elbows - then wincing once again as the twinge of pain shot through him. Erestor laughed.

"Good morning, meleth-nîn. I am well - though I *really* don't think that you can call me 'little one' any more, can you?" he finished with a self-satisfied smirk. 

Glorfindel's eyes widened and he was at a loss for words, his mouth gaping as a fish out of water. Stunned, he fell back onto the pillow.

" Elbereth!" he groaned, "I took to my bed the cool counsellor of Imladris, and I have woken to my bawdy brat of Gondolin!"

Both laughed merrily at this, and Erestor rolled on top of his mate, kissing him wildly across his face. "My love. My lord." He paused looking down into those shining sapphire eyes, his gleeful expression softening. "*My* Glorfindel..."

"Aye," whispered the golden lord, stroking that soft cheek. "Always yours, ind nîn." Erestor brought his head close to Glorfindel's ear, breathing lightly across the gentle peak. Glorfindel shuddered at the hot breath, his morning arousal reacting emphatically to the spasm of pleasure that shot through him.

"Prove it."

The erotic taunt, breathed into that pink ear, broke any self-restraint the seneschal may have had. Erestor's eyes had darkened to black and desire was rampant in his face. Glorfindel grasped him by the shoulders and moved swiftly to roll on top of the dark elf. He gazed down at this most beautiful elf - *his* beautiful elf. Glorfindel growled possessively.

"With pleasure..." 

Then he claimed those rose-red lips in a kiss that bespoke of love eternal.

And so the dance began once more, the broad frame of the golden lord overshadowing yet sheltering the slim figure beneath. His thick arousal found a welcome embrace within that elf and the lord thrust languorously in and out of the velvet sheath, listening with pleasure to the unrestrained cries of Erestor as he stroked repeatedly against that small but effective gland. He came with a shout, spilling his essence deep within that precious channel as Erestor's semen splashed hotly against his stomach. Breathing heavily, he dropped his head so that he lightly touched Erestor's forehead, trying to support his strong body so that he would not crush his lover.

"Erestor, oh gods, Erestor!" he grinned down at the panting elf. "Ai, I feel as if I had faced a hundred Witch-kings, so well have you used me this night!"

Erestor pushed back the damp raven strands from his moist face, smiling widely even as he caught his own breath. 

"Oh, but my lord," he said with a practiced innocence, sly shyness creeping onto his face. "That was last night - and it *is* morning now...?" 

Glorfindel looked up in alarm. "No, no, no! At least let me empty a certain part of my anatomy before you ask me to fill you again, my insatiable counsellor." 

Erestor grinned. "Brat. I'm your brat." 

"Whatever!" 

Glorfindel ignored his pouting pen- neth and withdrew from that oh-so-lovely sheath, determined to make use of the privy in his bathing chamber. As he began to rise he heard Erestor's sharp intake of breath and groaned inwardly. He had truly forgotten about those damned scars, and he turn penitently, expecting to see the pain once again on Erestor's face. Instead his love looked up at him with awe, tears of wonder trickling down his face.

"They are gone, Glorfindel!"

"What ?!" Glorfindel asked in shock. Erestor knelt up on the edge of the bed, turning Glorfindel away from him so that he could stroke the smooth back. 

"They are gone, my darling lord, as are the silver scars." Erestor smiled through his tears of happiness. "Your skin is as smooth and as clear as on the day of your birth." And he kissed that tender skin gently, with reverence and with love.

Glorfindel turned once more, gathering his pen- neth into his arms, wiping away those tears. "I thank the Valar at last, pen- vuin, for they have returned my love and my life to me."

"And you to me, my soul."

 

****

 

After completing their necessary ablutions, the two elves returned to the haven of their bed, determined not to waste the blessings that their love had brought to them. They talked softly, and laughed merrily, and mated gently, whiling away the morning in total love and harmony. It was after the noon hour that Glorfindel heard the outer door of his chambers click open, and soft murmurs of trespassers in the outer room. He looked down at the elf sleeping softly in his embrace, pleased that Erestor had not been disturbed by the incursion. He was annoyed two-fold; first, that someone had dared to enter his chambers, and second, that they had not announced their presence. He lay still, listening to sounds that denoted the moving of objects, and the slight clink of glass, and further murmurs, until he finally heard a second click, then silence. Glorfindel's curiosity got the better of him and, with care to move slowly so as not to wake his love, he slid from the bed and padded lightly to the door to the drawing room. What he saw made his mouth drop, then a gentle smile curved on his lips.

"Glorfindel? What is wrong, my heart?" came the sleepy voice from the bed behind him. The golden elf turned, beckoning to his love. He grinned.

"Come, Erestor. Come and see."

Erestor rose, moving carefully in his exquisite discomfort, and slid into the welcoming arm. 

"Oh my goodness!"

The room was changed from the night before. Gone were the stubs of burnt-out candles, the dishes of untouched sweetmeats and the bottles of un-poured wine. Instead the round dining table had been covered with a snow-white cloth, and two place settings of silver and fine porcelain were laid upon it. Fresh glasses of crystal were to be found next to the light golden wine in its decanter, and dishes of assorted breads, meats, cheeses and fruits waited for them. A bouquet of spring flowers was simply arranged in a porcelain vase.

"Elrond or Celebrían, do you think?" mused the seneschal. Erestor pointed to two posies of celandine, carefully bound with silver ribbons, which lay upon each plate. 

"The work of Arwen, I should think, judging by the clever braiding of the ribbons," he said. Glorfindel laughed, and pointed to two soft cushions placed pointedly on the dining chairs.

"And I spy the handiwork of the twins!" he guffawed.

To ignore such a thoughtful gift would have been churlish and, after donning light dressing gowns, the two elves indulged lightly, and toasted their affirmed love and new-born unity of souls. The lunch made them realise that the outer world still existed, and that their dearest friends probably wanted to share their happiness, so they decided to dress and join Elrond and his family. Indeed, Glorfindel was eager, for to declare the renewal of their betrothal meant that the preparations for their binding day could begin all the sooner. To dress meant to bathe first, however, and in the balmy water of the sunken tub they found that heat of another kind rose, and so it was that the sun had begun its descent in the sky when the seneschal of Imladris and Elrond's chief counsellor finally emerged from Glorfindel's chambers.

The two elves were greeted with great cheer, with open arms and delighted smiles. Elrond and Celebrían embraced them in turn, as did Mithrandir, and they received more vigorous and excited hugs from the Peredhil siblings. Thanks were given to the children by the couple, for the charming surprise they had found earlier that day, and much laughter abounded in the room at mention of the thoughtful pillows. 

"Ai, I believe poor Lindir had to beg a bed from Saelbeth last night," grinned Elladan. "He mentioned that a herd of oliphaunts had moved into the chamber next to him, and roared in play all night!" 

Erestor blushed, for he knew that Lindir was neighbour to Glorfindel's rooms, but his melethron simply laughed once more and tightened his endless hold on his little love. 

"Well, as for that, we must see about getting us larger chambers, pen- vuin. Mayhap Lindir would exchange with you, then we could expand mine into his, and make them ours?" 

It was a good idea, for Erestor had no especial attachment to his own chambers, they having been but a refuge from the world in his loneliness. He much preferred Glorfindel's, for there he had united his fëa with that of his true love. However, it was a topic for another time. 

Talk turned to their binding day, and Elrond was surprised when they both declined the suggestion of the day of Tarnin Austa, just over twelve months away. 

"Nay," said Glorfindel, shaking his head. "There are so many reasons that it should *not* be that day. There are too many sad memories for us both, never mind that Erestor's begetting day has always been overshadowed by the preparations. As an elfling I always hated my begetting day for that reason." 

Elrohir's eyes widened. "Ai, I don't think that I have ever known your begetting day, meldir? When is it?" 

"Yuletide Eve," said Erestor softly, and looked at his beloved with warm eyes, for their little tradition of exchanging gifts on their conception day had restarted during their long years of reconciliation, unbeknownst to the others. Small gifts, left in desk drawers, with no name but much love. Glorfindel smiled and lifted his dark love's hand to his lips, kissing it with all his love and devotion. 

"And now, I have received my best gift of all."

 

****

 

The date had been set for a late spring day yet, although it was still a year away, the preparations had already started in earnest. Erestor had bemoaned that fact that he had no betrothal ring to give to Glorfindel. They ordered from the jewel-smith a ring to be made in accordance with the specifications Glorfindel had designed so long ago - a simple mithril ring to be emblazoned with the rune 'E', for Erestor. In the meantime Arwen, with her clever fingers, had taken some strands of hair from both their heads and had twisted and braided them into a ring, sable and gold, preserved and strengthened with layers of varnish. Glorfindel wore this ring with pride and, when the mithril ring was ready and finally placed on his finger by his soul-mate, it was retired with honour to the little carved box that had held another ring for four thousand years.

In the weeks that had followed the announcement of their betrothal the inhabitants of Imladris had, with their usual eloquence, discussed this union in depth, and the gossip mills had run rampant. For those who remembered the initial strain of Glorfindel's arrival this announcement was no surprise, for was it not often the case that the course of true love did not always run smooth? The younger elves could hardly believe the tale that the chief counsellor had once been a black, dour, stern elf, for in the years of reconciliation Erestor's dark outer shell had been tempered much at Glorfindel's insistence. What none of them were prepared for was the dramatic change in Erestor's behaviour in the throes of love revealed.

In council meetings Erestor was much the same - be-robed in dark colours, his hair in stately braids, his demeanour that of the regal advisor all had known. Once duty was over however, the change was evident. Erestor had retained the use of Melpomaen as an assistant to Saelbeth, for it freed him from the many menial tasks he had once undertaken to fill his long, lonely dark days. Now his days were dark no more and the off-duty Erestor was as a youth again. Gone were the robes, instead he wore tunics and leggings, or crisp white shirts with jerkins of reds, russets or greens. His hair was unbound, brushed and burnished so that the red highlights shone under Anor's rays. His face always carried a smile - mostly a gentle, shy smile, for he still retained some of the reserve and shyness that had been his from his birth. But when he was with Glorfindel it was as if the golden lord was his sun, and he glowed in the beatific rays bestowed only upon him - and he smiled, that brilliant smile that was meant for his beloved lord alone. Even those who had once lusted and longed to break the councillor's icy crusting could now only stare in astonishment at this glorious creature, and jealous envy of the seneschal was rife.

They went everywhere together, for neither was happy unless with the other. They walked the pathways of the extensive gardens, and were often seen lounging beneath a shady tree, Glorfindel's head in Erestor's lap as his betrothed read to him. They rode out upon their fine mounts, and galloped on the hills for miles around, revelling in the freedom it gave them. They swam in the Bruinen, playfully splashing and diving, bare of clothes, as Ilúvatar had intended. And loving, always loving. Kisses and caresses were bestowed without restraint, and their love shone as a beacon of hope.

In private Erestor had no hesitation in expressing his love to Glorfindel in every way. Their passion within their bedchamber knew no bounds, though the reversal of roles initiated by Erestor on that first night was not often repeated. Erestor was happier being the recipient of his beloved lord's attentions, but Glorfindel's needs were in no way neglected. Indeed, Andrann saw this lightness of heart even on the most dangerous of patrols, and found it eerie that the golden lord would grin even as he sliced open an orc's belly.

Many letters were sent as part of the preparations for the ceremony, both as announcements of the nuptials and as invitations to the event. Time was passing swiftly now and barely had the Yuletide observance passed when the day was upon them.

 

****

 

The guests began to arrive some days before the nuptials, to allow them time to rest so that they could partake of the festivities more fully. First to arrive was the Wandering Company and their lord Gildor Inglorion. Erestor and Glorfindel waited eagerly on the steps of the house as the procession of elves rode into the courtyard. Erestor was unrestrained in his welcome.

" Díwen!" 

He flew to the now-dismounted elleth, folding her into a tight embrace. The dark-haired elleth laughed and rejoiced in her brother's happiness, delighted to see all trace of sadness erased from his face. Díwen would be standing at Erestor's side at the ceremony, acting as his family witness - Elrond would be his friend-supporter. Introductions were made, for her husband Orthored, her son Pathon, and her daughter Nienna and her spouse accompanied Díwen. 

A second family reunion also took place. Erestor had researched into Glorfindel's background intensely in remembrance of an obscure reference he had once seen. Sure enough, he had discovered kinship between his betrothed and Lord Gildor, through their common lineage to Finarfin and his mother, Indis of the Vanyar. Glorfindel was glad of this connection, however slight, for he had great respect and friendship for the southern lord following their meeting centuries before. Gildor had been delighted to receive the invitation for him to stand as Glorfindel's kin-witness, doubly so when he learned that Círdan would be the golden lord's friend-supporter.

Círdan soon followed, as did representatives from Mirkwood and the Golden Wood. Neither of the latter rulers felt able to leave their respective realms with the darkness yet growing, especially Thranduil. The fortress of Dol Guldur was inhabited, and releasing into the depths of the wood such creatures as would make the blood run cold. Nevertheless his son, the fair Prince Legolas, came in his father's stead much to the delight of the twin princes of Imladris, who had known him since his birth. From Lothlórien came Haldir, who recalled their days as teachers to the young princes.

"Ai, what trouble we had then, eh my friends?" the Marchwarden said warmly. "I am so happy that you have found each other, and may your days be filled with light." And they had embraced in joy and happiness.

Glorfindel greeted Círdan with great warmth, and expressed his thanks to his dear friend for his agreement to his part in the binding ceremony. The bearded lord gripped Glorfindel's forearms in a warrior's greeting, returning the generosity of his sentiments.

"You are most welcome, mellon-nîn. The strength that you showed both in your resolution to complete this task, and upon the battlefield itself, make me honoured to be counted as your friend. Yet tell me, have you decided whether I need to build a new ship? Will you be travelling to the Undying Lands?"

"We have made that decision, and the answer is 'No'." Glorfindel replied. "We are happy here, but one day we will wish to travel. Just not yet."

Indeed, they had determined not to leave Middle Earth, but to stay in Imladris. This they had told to both Mithrandir and Elrond, and the Istar and the Elf-lord were glad.

"It is as I said, young Glorfindel," said Mithrandir. "The world is darkening, yet by your deeds you have brought some light. The strength of many will be required before this Age is done, and yours is a strength that has been revealed and will give much heart to those who face the evil in the future. And you Erestor, your sage advice and extensive knowledge will be a blessing to Elrond in his work."

Erestor nodded, glancing up at his love before he answered. Glorfindel squeezed his hand, reassuring him.

"Elrond," the dark advisor said, "you have always been the most sympathetic friend, and you and Celebrían have cared for Glorfindel and I through the darkest moments of our love. How could we desert you now, as the Age moves on into what we have been told will be a time of great disturbance? You have our support and our friendship at all times. Imladris is our home, and we will defend it, you and your family with our lives."

"Aye," added Glorfindel. "The deed I undertook was the will of the Valar, but at my return I also swore to protect the line of Turgon, Idril and Eärendil. You and your family are mine to protect, Elrond. I will not fail you." 

And so that decision was made, and there was continued amity between the House of Elrond and the House of the Golden Flower. 

 

**** 

 

And so it was the night before his binding day that Glorfindel lay alone his large bed, listening to the thunder of the water tumbling endlessly over the cliffs into the pool far below. Ithil shone her cool rays into the bedchamber, but it was not that which kept the golden lord awake. It was the empty space beneath him. Erestor was gone. 

Celebrían and Arwen had insisted upon it, upon the tradition of the betrothed to spend their last night in solitary contemplation and rest for, tittered Arwen, 'you will get none tomorrow night!' Little Arwen was not little any more, and could jest as well as her brothers. Erestor had coloured but then laughed, and they had both agreed to abide by tradition. Erestor had retired to a guest bedroom after a family dinner in Elrond's quarters, though the family had been extended somewhat. The four supporters of the to-be-weds were present as were their families, and a cheery party had ensued. 

Now it was quiet. Too quiet. With a final sigh Glorfindel got up from the bed and dressed in sleeping pants and a dressing gown, soft slippers on his feet. He took one last look around the room in the moonlight. His robes for the following day were on a stand near the bed, rich blue silk emblazoned with exquisite flowers embroidered in golden thread at collar and hem. The flower was the celandine, of course, at Erestor's insistence. Erestor would wear matching robes of teal-green silk, with the same motifs. Tomorrow they would reclaim their heritage as part of the ceremony and deny no more their former lives. One last look, then Glorfindel left his chambers, happy in the knowledge that from tomorrow night Erestor would be with him here, until the end of their time in Middle Earth. 

The corridors were deserted, and Glorfindel's progress was unimpeded. He made his way to the entrance to the gardens, enjoying the mystical shadows of the flora in the unblinking moonlight. All colour was leached from the vibrant flowers, and shades of white, black and grey were all that were left. He looked across the lawn, admiring the wedding portico that had been set up that day, supervised by Celebrían and Arwen ; though it was Elrohir and Elladan who had done most of the work. It was beautiful, covered with white spring blossoms twisted with ivy, and highlighted once again with the flower of his house. Underneath that canopy of flowers he and Erestor would stand and speak their vows in love and joy. Mithrandir was officiating tomorrow, and behind Glorfindel would stand Círdan and Gildor, whilst Elrond and Díwen would support Erestor. Mithrandir would raise their hands and join them, wrapping around their joined wrists the white satin cloth that would symbolise the blessing of the gods. Then Glorfindel would gather his pen-neth into his arms, and kiss him deeply, with a heart fulfilled... 

A clearing of the throat alerted Glorfindel to the presence of another in the garden, and he turned to see a shape in the shadows, looking for all the world like a sack of black rags. His heart skipped a beat, then the black velvet veil lifted and the midnight hair was pushed off the creamy-white face. 

"I knew that you would come," Erestor said simply, holding out a hand to beckon his love. "I could not sleep either, and I knew where you would be." 

Glorfindel crossed the grass to sit beside him, taking that hand and raising it to his lips. 

"I missed you," he said. Erestor nodded. 

"I know." 

Glorfindel looked across the grass, his loved one beside him. He knew that Erestor was seeing the same thing. 

"They are very like our gardens, eh pen-neth? So long ago, so far away..." 

Erestor's hand snaked into his, and Glorfindel felt that precious ring upon his finger. It would be on a different finger tomorrow. 

"Aye, hir-nîn, I remember. So much do we forget from the beginning of our lives, so that our childhood only comes back in small flashes of memory. So much forgotten. I did not forget that. Our first meeting, when you sat by a grieving boy and tried to comfort him. You were so big, so strong. I knew instinctively that I could trust you. That you would always protect me. I remember your hand stroking across my face when I was desolate, awaiting rescue. I remember you holding me close in that dark, dank room, and I knew that you would never let me go again." 

"No, I would never let you go," Glorfindel whispered. "I never will." 

There were no other words spoken as Glorfindel bent down to claim those rose-red lips, now a non-shade in Ithil's light. Pushing down gently he lowered his darling Erestor to the grass, slipping that deep black-red robe from the advisor's shoulders. Erestor was naked beneath them, his beautiful body like a perfectly sculpted statue. But he was warm and welcoming, his fingers undoing the tie on Glorfindel's dressing gown, and then turning so that he could kneel over his lord to remove the sleep pants from his hips. Glorfindel's glorious mane lay tumbled on the grass, and Erestor bent down to take a few strands, lifted them to his nose to savour their fresh scent. Lazily he dropped them as his mouth moved nearer to Glorfindel's peaked ear, his breath hot upon their points; he licked them lightly and grinned at the hiss he elicited. 

It was an exploration of body and soul, both of which they knew so well but which would never cease to reveal new nuances in their years together. Each exploration was as if of virgin territory, full of pleasures found anew. Lips slowly tracked their way across the skin's surface, tasting the salt within, luxuriating in its tenderness. A throat was massaged, a breast was tasted, nipples suckled. Slowly, slowly. Short gasps ensued from both as their heat rose, as the plunder took more strenuous form. Hands roamed across silken backs, curving down the spine, squeezing the firm buttocks, lifting and opening them to expose that tender aperture. Glorfindel started as he felt the precious rose-bud, already slick with oil. 

"My love -!" 

Erestor kissed him deeply, allowing no speech as he plunged into that sweet cavern, his tongue delving, possessing all those dark places; possessing Glorfindel. He panted as he broke off the urgent devouring, smiling knowingly when he saw the open lust and love on his lord's face. 

"I told you," he breathed, "I knew that you would come." He leant forward, stroking that beloved face, words wanting to be spoken, yet he wondered if he should say them, for they seemed ungrateful in their sentiment. 

"I want tomorrow, Glorfindel, I want the joy of our wedding to be open, under the sun, in brightness and honour but... I wish that it could be just the two of us, saying our vows in a softer light." 

Glorfindel smiled gently, stroking the soft arms of the elf, his most beautiful elf, who straddled him. Erestor's body shone, reflected Ithil's beams with a glow that made his dark beauty luminous. 

"I think it is too late to elope, my love." Glorfindel's saw Erestor's lips curl slightly, then realised just what Erestor *did* mean. "Here, my love?" 

Erestor nodded. "Then we can still have tomorrow, and we could repeat our vows tomorrow night, but tonight - I want this, Glorfindel." 

There was no hesitation. "Then you shall have it, ind-nîn." The golden lord reached up as if to roll them over, but Erestor pushed him back. Instead he took Glorfindel's swollen shaft in his hand and stroked it, pressing his fingers over the weeping slit, milking it of its essences. He stroked the fluid over the velvet skin, making it slick and moist. Rising gently, he positioned his opening over the demanding member; lowering steadily, he relished the feeling of his channel taking the whole length in as he impaled himself upon his love. 

Glorfindel grasped Erestor's hands, steadying him as his love grew accustomed to the sensation, then slowly began to move, thrusting gently upwards. Erestor began to move, using his strong thigh muscles to raise and lower himself. The dark elf was panting already, moaning with delight as the thick flesh within him brushed against that tender gland, revelling in the darts of ecstasy shooting through his body. His head was raised, bathed in Ithil's light. Pure, untainted love glowed from every pore. Erestor looked down once again at the golden lord, and both sets of eyes burned black with lust in the absence of colour. Erestor nodded to Glorfindel, and Glorfindel spoke. 

"I, Glorfindel of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, do bind myself to you in love eternal. Heart to heart, body to body, soul to soul; I am yours forever. Let the Valar witness my oath, and send their blessing upon us." 

Erestor smiled, gaining enough control of his breath to complete his own vow. 

"In Erestor Galwionion, uin Herth-e-mallos, gweth mi meleth uireb anim allen. Gur na úr, rhaw na thraw, faer na faer; nathon ah len an uir. Valar, lasto 'west nin, a toltho éil lin am ' wethed vin." 

Glorfindel could hold back no more. Erestor was his. His thrusts became lunges, his body arching to drive deeper into his soul-mate, and Erestor pressed down to meet him. They both felt a tingling across their naked bodies, as if the fire of lightning crawled across their skin. The inborn glow of the Firstborn flared into life, encompassing them both and shone brighter as their bond was affirmed. It shone between them; it snaked around them, joining them in total unity. In this most perfect of unions their souls spoke to one another and the ecstasy flooding their bodies reverberated through that bond, setting up such an echo that they could scarce abide. It was intense; it was immense. Nothing had felt like it ever, in the history of Arda. 

They were no longer in their bodies, those bodies were but shells, writhing in the physical plane below them. They danced amongst the stars, their souls, their *one* soul expanding to fill the universe. Tilion greeted them as they passed Ithil; Eärendil saluted them from the deck of Vingilot, his brow bearing that precious Silmaril; then Varda caught them, as she had caught their souls on their first union of body one year ago. She held their souls, and with one gesture the heavens shook, releasing shooting stars across the firmament in blessing of this unprecedented completion of bodily and spiritual rapture. 

Erestor fell upon his melethron's body, drained from the intensity of that climax, the completion amongst the stars. Glorfindel, with effort, wrapped his arms about his sweet love, feeling his body accept once again his spirit, now doubly bound to Erestor. For he could feel his drained emotions, he could sense his love's whirling thoughts through the bond. Never again would he be alone in his world, for Erestor would always be with him. They were One. 

Glorfindel recovered first. Although he would wish to lie here all night, it would occasion too much talk in the morning. It would seem that their lovemaking had been rendered silent by the will of the Valar, for none stirred to witness their rising from the grass, to see them slowly enrobe themselves. Glorfindel held his pen- neth in his arms, feeling his soft breath against his chest, then he lifted him. Erestor wrapped his arms around his neck and kissing him lightly on the lips, snuggled further into the arms of his husband, his lover, his saviour, his lord. Glorfindel carried him over the grass, into the house, where their destination was their chambers, there to sleep entwined until Anor rose.

They would have their day in the sun, they would enjoy the binding with their loved ones - but they would already know that they were now complete, and blessed beyond measure. Their love was would last forever. Until the end of Arda.

And beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish :
> 
> melethron - beloved, male lover  
> Maer aur - good morning  
> pen- neth - little one  
> meleth-nîn - my love  
> ind-nîn - my heart  
> pen- vuin - dear one  
> meldir - friend  
> hir-nîn - my lord
> 
>  
> 
> Erestor's oath:
> 
> ** I, Erestor son of Galwion, of the House of the Golden Flower, do bind myself to you in love eternal. Heart to heart, body to body, soul to soul; I am yours forever. Let the Valar witness my oath, and send their blessing upon us. **


End file.
